waiting for the gin and tonic to kick in

That's my new old drink, since they served my needs so well at the Pride Dance. I've also had something like a Bellini without the crushed ice (so not very much like a Bellini at all) and am currently sucking at a cup of white wine, U-brew vintage. I want to have a solid hangover for the wedding so that those tears will come across as sincere.

I lasted twenty minutes upstairs with the hordes. I'm taking a breather, and then I'm crawling back out of this hole again.

I probably will cry, actually. And I'll probably mean it.

I showed great restraint in packing; I brought only one magazine, one comic book, and four books. I also forgot to bring my suit jacket, my good shirt, and my swimming trunks, which resulted in my borrowing a shirt from my father and prancing about in my athletic shorts during the set-up phase. I thought I was doing pretty well, packing-wise, for four hours' sleep, until I realized that along with leaving behind these essential garments I'd also forgotten an unfinished sandwich on the counter in the kitchen.

I meant to bring only three books and give Rousseau a rest, but he looked hurt and asked me if I were in league against him. I've got a Jean Rhys novel (I meant to get a biography, but forgot), Kushner's Thomas the Rhymer (thoughts anon) and the Rilke.

{rf}