I had poured my cooking cocktail, peeled my first onion and grabbed my knife when I got an invite from my friend-ish type person to dinner. (Instead of friend-ish type person, I'd like to say beautiful blonde with haunting vulnerabilities whom I completely love and she feeds me and nothing brings nearer to loving anyone than when they feed me, but instead I'll go with friend-ish type person because I really haven't known her that long). I abandoned that onion, and the boys and I headed to her place.
However, there is really no food in the fridge, and The Man is on the way home now. The Man has indicated that he is hungry so gaily, I have headed into the kitchen to make him some grub. It's two in the morning, two thirty actually. I've only made taco meat for super nachos so it's really nothing compared to the midnight ode to the pig tapas that he made me on Wednesday or the scallops, mussels and white wine sauce that he made me last Wednesday at midnight.
I love our life sometimes. I'm listening to every version of Friend of the Devil that I can find on youtube while I let meat simmer and wait for The Man. Not having a day job and being married to a chef lends itself to a schedule that feels kinda like being a rock star. A very very poor rock star with no instruments who never goes on tour.... but now my favorite waiter has arrived with my husband so I'll finish this post in a bit.
It's morning now, afternoon rather. Last night, we had a beer, listened to our music and Meetsauce, the waiter, regaled us with his tales. The guy is an incredible story teller, humorous, poignant, well delivered. I love his stories and admire his narrative technique a lot. I excused myself at about 4AM and fell asleep to the sounds of Meetsauce and The Man talking. Falling asleep to voices is always comforting.
Comforting. When so many things can feel discomfiting or annoying. However, the thing is when you really think about all of the petty questions that I let discomfit me or that any of us let trouble our minds, they're really actually very small issues. Should I put the kids in school or not. Is my house clean enough. Will a day job answering phones kill my soul. Are my kids going to break something running around the grocery store. How am I going to pay that traffic ticket that I got yesterday. These are all small things that we let encumber ourselves when we lose track of the big picture.
But back to midnight snacks. We took a cab home from the fourth of July party that we were at, put the kiddos to bed, and then headed to the backyard. The Man lit a fire in the pit and grilled up some steaks and blue cheese sauce for a truly excellent midnight snack.
But while we were munching and chatting about the guests that had been at the party. Maybe even while we were talking about one guest in particular and whether or not she was wearing mismatched socks. She was being destroyed. Raped. Assaulted. Her apartment set on fire. And then, later, while we were sleeping, she managed to stumble out of the smoke, jump out her window, get found and get taken to the hospital. And while I was running out of gas and worrying about what to cook for dinner guests or anything else that we do in an average week, she sat in a coma. And that's it. That's what we have to remember, that most of the shit that we let weigh lay ourselves is nothing. The sun rises, it sets, and that woman might never be okay again.
One minute, she and I are smoking an American Spirit together and the next minute, she's in a nightmare. The world is tragic sometimes.