(no subject)
my new hobby is called "spending the nights that i'm suppose to be at work in the emergency room". i should just get a job at the hospital. but for now i just catch up on my reading.
from time to time i drag old books out and reread them, and today i found a receipt in a copy of Tales from Moominvalley by Tove Jansson. the receipt is for $13.08, and it bought me a bottle of wine and some ho-hos.
i specifically remember the wine, and the ho-hos, and the weekend.
i was spending the weekend with a hippie...not in the classical sense, but he was a guy with longish hair who didn't like to wear shoes and ate whole foods and such. we were at his house somewhere off of Prince Avenue in Athens. we had a partner project to finish for Political Philosophy and i remember not agreeing on anything. i'm pretty sure it was my last semester at UGA. neither one of us wanted to work on it, so we would find other things to do like go out to eat or watch cartoons. soon i found out he liked to read, so i brought a box of books for him, and the ho-ho's and wine to encourage progress on the project.
his house was pretty much a room and a bathroom, snug but tiny, with a bare minimum of plumbing and electricity. it had an iron roof which made an intense ding when it rained.
we spent most of the weekend outdoors as it was april and pretty. we laid on old comforters in carpets of pine needles reading and not really accomplishing anything other than throwing dirt clods at one another from time to time.
we opened the wine and drank from institutional coffee cups, the thick ceramic mugs too tough for restaurant busboys to break, and by late afternoon we had a warm glow going. we ate ho-hos and hamburgers and drank the wine, and the sun beat down on the iron roof. around six, a wind blew a fairly heavy cloud cover in and we wrapped up the blankets and carried them inside. i put the receipt into one of the books i brought, closed it, and it started to pour. we just stood there. it had been a hot day, and the cool rain felt good. i stretched out my arm to feel the rain coming off the roof and was a bit shocked to find it really warm--the heat built up in the old thick iron roof was heating the water. it turned cold quickly, and we ran inside to get dry. the rest of the evening we slept on his swaybacked old bed, buried under a mountain of blankets. we read and drank wine and fell asleep.
in the morning we finally finished the project. he thanked me for the books and i left. a few weeks later he returned the books and invited me to come again to hang out.
i never did, and i still can't remember that kid's name. it's odd that that little piece of paper brought back such a flood of memories. it was so perfect, so insanely decadent. i've had moments like that since where i would spend all day in bed snuggled up with or without someone, watching tv, talking, laughing, etc. those are the moments of my life that i return to when i can't sleep or when i'm anxious. a moment in time without worry or thought for anything but being comfortable. decadence is a thing of the mind. if you haven't been there you should go. even a day can change your life.
from time to time i drag old books out and reread them, and today i found a receipt in a copy of Tales from Moominvalley by Tove Jansson. the receipt is for $13.08, and it bought me a bottle of wine and some ho-hos.
i specifically remember the wine, and the ho-hos, and the weekend.
i was spending the weekend with a hippie...not in the classical sense, but he was a guy with longish hair who didn't like to wear shoes and ate whole foods and such. we were at his house somewhere off of Prince Avenue in Athens. we had a partner project to finish for Political Philosophy and i remember not agreeing on anything. i'm pretty sure it was my last semester at UGA. neither one of us wanted to work on it, so we would find other things to do like go out to eat or watch cartoons. soon i found out he liked to read, so i brought a box of books for him, and the ho-ho's and wine to encourage progress on the project.
his house was pretty much a room and a bathroom, snug but tiny, with a bare minimum of plumbing and electricity. it had an iron roof which made an intense ding when it rained.
we spent most of the weekend outdoors as it was april and pretty. we laid on old comforters in carpets of pine needles reading and not really accomplishing anything other than throwing dirt clods at one another from time to time.
we opened the wine and drank from institutional coffee cups, the thick ceramic mugs too tough for restaurant busboys to break, and by late afternoon we had a warm glow going. we ate ho-hos and hamburgers and drank the wine, and the sun beat down on the iron roof. around six, a wind blew a fairly heavy cloud cover in and we wrapped up the blankets and carried them inside. i put the receipt into one of the books i brought, closed it, and it started to pour. we just stood there. it had been a hot day, and the cool rain felt good. i stretched out my arm to feel the rain coming off the roof and was a bit shocked to find it really warm--the heat built up in the old thick iron roof was heating the water. it turned cold quickly, and we ran inside to get dry. the rest of the evening we slept on his swaybacked old bed, buried under a mountain of blankets. we read and drank wine and fell asleep.
in the morning we finally finished the project. he thanked me for the books and i left. a few weeks later he returned the books and invited me to come again to hang out.
i never did, and i still can't remember that kid's name. it's odd that that little piece of paper brought back such a flood of memories. it was so perfect, so insanely decadent. i've had moments like that since where i would spend all day in bed snuggled up with or without someone, watching tv, talking, laughing, etc. those are the moments of my life that i return to when i can't sleep or when i'm anxious. a moment in time without worry or thought for anything but being comfortable. decadence is a thing of the mind. if you haven't been there you should go. even a day can change your life.