Last weekend I accidentally stayed up late one night but didn’t regret it the next day. Also I saw Oneida during the day on Saturday with Maura. They were playing a series of shows in their rehearsal space to benefit Japan. I really enjoyed the show, and felt all buzzy afterward, which may have had something to do with the two old dudes passing the one hitter back and forth right next to us, but I prefer to attribute it to the power of music. Maura and I wandered the streets afterward, ending up at Marlow. She was about to start a new job, and it was fun to talk about it with her. We talked about shows we might want to see together and I said something like, “I kind of only ever want to see the New Pornographers.” Then she helped me pick out my dinner from the shop down the block and sent me home where I collapsed, catatonic, dead from a long night, a long week, a long life.
Last night I went to Meg Wolitzer’s book party way uptown, which doesn’t feel as uptown when you start from midtown, which is where I’m spending my days now. It was in a gorgeous apartment, and I saw some people I knew and liked, and met some new people I liked, and I only saw one person I didn’t like, which is pretty amazing for a book party. Then I went to yoga because I hadn’t been since last week. I didn’t drink at the party and I ate like three appetizers and then I went to yoga and I cried in class. I don’t know why I cried, but I did. I think I’m tired. I might be relieved about something. I might just be giving into change.
I have an essay coming out in a few weeks that I really love and is as honest as I’m going to get in this life and I am afraid people are going to say mean things about me on the internet. I’m good at ignoring the noise, but it doesn’t mean I like it.
I just wanted to say that out loud. Out loud on the internet.
This cliche is of some comfort, sometimes:
Those that matter don’t mind, those that mind-don’t matter.
“I’m good at ignoring the noise, but it doesn’t mean I like it.”
Well put.