return to the weekend
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latest archive about email links yearbook japan photoblog wish list	Tue Oct 03 00 / 3:49 AM Sunday was so singularly perfect for me that I could have been a neo God creating paradise on the seventh day. But here in the Garden of Need I love fruits and snakes equally, and choose to invite in rather than cast out. On a paradise day, the clock starts at noon the day before. A best friend comes shopping and the two heads that are better than one emerge a lot more blonde. It is a good day in borrowed clothes. Candles everywhere. A room full of best friends and new friends. Gifts, drinks, movies, music, confidence, laughter, innuendo. And then after the party, when the majority has gone home happy and your favourite hours have just been struck, there is a boy and a couch and a belly. Star Trek is in the background with embarrassment and discomfort and just enough noise. A paradise day wakes up again at 5pm to a whole new evening of possibility blinking ahead. A favourite meal made, laundry done, good body day continued in a loved outfit. Though in hours the paradise day is now short, the night is still young when the best friend comes along to Barrymore's. After pre-drinks and pre-music and close bus connections, a paradise day still gets better. The DJ plays all the requests, the Blues Brothers arrive, the dance floor welcomes, envelops, mixes. Get up on stage and feel fine. Know the words. Become the sun to four beautiful planets who keep breaking orbit to spiral closer for warmth and light. Adore and be adored. Be true to desire and want more. Know the bounds but say no to them. Touch. And though it doesn't come out right when it is written, a paradise day suffers nothing from retelling and reminiscing and recreating.
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Lisa Higgs
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