Wow.  I’ve been away for a while now.  I was on a nice little plateau there, with the flurry of childhood stories, and then when Stepdad died, I got thrown into the whirlwind of feelings and thoughts, as well as a low-level ‘malaise’ (my friend’s term) that made me feel listless and unmotivated to do anything.  It took me almost a month to remember to pay my rent, for example, even though I had the money and everything.  I cleaned house for the first time in weeks yesterday; what a difference that made.

IrishBand had an amazing EP release show last Friday, which also helped with my mood, although the show left me completely physically exhausted for the next couple of days after that.  It was the good kind of exhaustion, though, the kind where you feel like you’ve got something to show for your hard work.

I was still feeling weird on Halloween, and I almost gave it a miss.  One of my friends invited me to the Erotic Ball that takes place every year, but I declined.  “It’s not my thing,” I told her.  “Ever, or just right now?” she asked.  “Ever,” I said, and smiled a little so I didn’t sound harsh.  “It’s just. . .not my thing.”  A couple of my friends who were checking up on me said that I should really go out that night, instead of just sitting home and ruminating.  So I did.  I didn’t dress up, but I did go to a party.  I arrived when the party was in full swing, so it took a little while to adjust to the craziness.  The hostess was glad I came, but she told me that I really should have a costume – since everyone else did – and that she could probably scrounge something up for me.  She said, “How about a hat?”  Sounds great.  She went into her room and came out with a cool fedora.  “How about a really big camera?”  How about it?  She reached into her closet and pulled down a serious thirty-five-millimeter camera with a huge lens on it, and put it around my neck.  “Awesome,” I said.  “instant photojournalist.”  At a certain point, we trundled through the pouring rain to a nearby bar to continue the celebration.  The place was completely dead until the twenty-five of us rushed in.  We soaked the clean floor, and a few people spilled drinks, and some even broke glasses.  It was pandemonium.  There were two Snookies in our group, one of whom was a guy.

He wore the requisite wig and gold sparkle dress, and even made a point of telling us that he wasn’t wearing any underwear.  It turned out later that he didn’t need to tell us that, because we found out for ourselves when the dress slipped off at the bar.  A couple of us looked over at one point to see a bare ass hanging out of the top of the dress.  Niiiiiice.  Right after that, someone narrowly made it outside the front door to throw up, so we figured the party had hit critical mass.  We took a few group photos and called it good.  And yes, I’m glad I was there.

The moral of all this is that I’m starting to feel my equilibrium returning, and you can expect to see BFS&T return to its usual self very soon as well.