Last night on my roof there was a party. It was thrown by Kerry, a lovely red-headed Australian who has lived in the building for a few years. She bought an apartment elsewhere in Brooklyn, and is moving out in a few days. She was wearing a white dress, skin showing, a flattering cut. She’s always got an enthusiastic smile, and seems to lead one of those gorgeous and enthralling kinds of lives. We talked about how Australians are like labradors, so excited and happy and eager to please. Eager to please, yes, but she’s no fool, and has led a life, I can tell. You can be both light and dark at the same time.
Last night on my roof I met a photographer who had recently shot an extremely famous author. The author is old now, but not cantankerous. Merely tough. The photographer said he had reminded her of her father. I couldn’t imagine this man being anyone’s father. Before she took his picture, she sat in on an interview with him. He often gave short, unhelpful answers, which she found disappointing. “He was over it,” she said. “Probably because he’s been writing the same book over and over for the last fifty years,” I said. “And what else is there left to say?”
I would like to think that I will never get tired of talking about my books but I imagine that I will actually just get tired of talking in general someday, so I apologize in advance for my behavior.
Last night on my roof I also met a nice man who said he had dated a woman who was a liar. He constantly had to call her on her bullshit. It was just part of her fabric. Eventually he began to lie a little bit himself, even though he had always been an honest man before.
I am a terrible liar but every so often I find myself saying harmless nonsense to strangers. It just comes out of my mouth and I don’t bother to correct myself. I don’t completely understand the pathology behind it. Usually (though not always) I am saying it to make someone laugh or feel less alone, something like, “That same thing happened to me once,” when it absolutely hadn’t. But still it can’t be a good thing to be putting something dishonest out in the world.
Last night on my roof I realized I was going to relax until my birthday in November. That I was in no rush to do anything but enjoy my life until I turned forty, and then everything was going to reboot and a new vision for my life would unfold. I feel ahead of schedule in a lot of ways. And I feel behind in all others.
Obviously having a life schedule is totally idiotic.
Last night on my roof I realized I would probably have to give up my dream of dating a scientist one day. It’s just never going to happen, is it? I’m never going to meet a scientist.
Last night on my roof I ate some perfectly pickled vegetables. I talked to the skinny, dry Russian men for a bit. I kissed a pretty Italian woman on the forehead. I drank sangria. Right after the sunset, I excused myself and went home. It was a beautiful sunset last night, did you see it?
When I woke up this morning, I realized I had dreamed about my ex-boyfriend. We were walking around all over town and having a good time. We were laughing at each other’s jokes. We lived in the same apartment building, across the hall from each other. The building had been full of sand and dirt and dust but when we came back from our walk everything was cleaner. Someone had taken responsibility for the mess.
I frequently have dreams that focus on a house or apartment. Dreams about a house are usually dreams about the state of your self.
Here’s the only good thing about being obvious: sometimes it is just nice to not have to do so much goddamn work all the time.
