I guess that's why they call it the blues...

I am a college student, and as such, I admit to spending the occasional weekend night drinking with friends.  Not generally in excess, and not in any situation that would be considered less than ideal.  Any family reading this, do not be alarmed!  Now that I've made that disclaimer..

Last night I got fairly well smashed.  I decided that I would stop worrying about everything on my mind and just try and be young, have a good time.  I suppose keeping track of how much alcohol I actually drank was one of the things I stopped worrying about.  This little experiment in adolescence led to a good half an hour of loudly exclaimed drunken wisdom, conducting conversations from a horizontal position significantly lower to the ground than my conversations generally tend to be.  My friends were wonderful sports about it (possibly because I have had conversations with many of them from similar angles when they overindulged) and they let me say my peace about every topic from the recent election in Massachusetts to the myriad reasons that Pocahontas is the most inspiring of the Disney princesses.  As I sobered, this progressed to some measure of confusion as to why I was on the floor, and complete disbelief when I was informed that, yes, I had been on the floor for twenty minutes.  And while I was on the floor, completely blocking the path to the restroom, other guests of our small party had been forced to go next door to my apartment to use mine.  All in all, an embarassing night.  My friends must be such wonderful people to deal with me.  One friend was especially splendid, and obliged when I begged "Don't leave until the room stops spinning! I can't face the spinning alone.  It's just too much."  To that friend, whose name I shall keep to myself due to the fact that I've clearly said we were drinking, thank you very much for holding my hand until the spinning stopped.  You are, as usual, my hero.

On a more pleasant and altogether less embarassing front, PianoMike seems to be on board with the idea of starting a band.  We went to the Curry Student Center today and played around with the grand piano for a while.  He played "I, Giorni", a composition by Ludovico Einaudi, so beautifully!  That song makes me cry when I play the CD, but hearing it live was much better.  He did a lovely job.  We did a little bit of Simon and Garfunkel, and decided that this week we're going to set about learning some songs.  And, eventually, find other musicians to play with.  Or perhaps that should come first?  Well, either way, we're moving forward with this idea.  I had the strangest sense of something exciting beginning today when he was playing.  Maybe devoting some time to making music will be good for both of us. I know I've missed singing fiercely.  I've also been very suddenly interested in art again.  I've been drawing on every available surface, and itching to get my paints out.  I'm not really an artist, but I do enjoy it.  It is as though every painting I haven't done, every song I haven't sung, every poem I haven't written over the past year is just clawing its way out of me.  I'm pretty excited about it.  I was once pretty creative. I think I will be again.  One night last week, I opened my window and it smelled like spring.  I think that's a good sign.

"Someday out of the blue, maybe years from now, or tomorrow night, I'll turn and I'll see you.  As if we always knew, someday we would live again, someday soon."

-Elton John, "Someday Out of the Blue"