Journal 128 On a Saturday Morning

David Gray is on my ipod dock, just because.
I woke up and checked my email and some random woman allegedly named "Irene Morgan" (died at this) had commented on my blog about buying life insurance (truly. was killing myself laughing--I mean, you're supposed to comment on OTHER blogs to generate traffic back to your own, but this was hilar.)
The comment was like a whole paragraph (I deleted it but kept it in my inbox of my hotmail) saying this:

 Just married? You are probably reeling from the big day. Once it has all settled down and you’ve written all those thank you notes, do the next most important thing: purchase a life insurance policy. I work with IntelliQuote where they know you’ll sleep better knowing your spouse and your future family are protected. IntelliQuote is a great place to start to get an idea of how little that sound sleep can cost you.


Love the "probably reeling from the big day".  Umm, not really.  I don't think most people who just celebrated a wedding are reeling, unless they went way beyond their means and are now trying to figure out how to pay bills.   But I digress. "Irene" left this comment at 4:55am, apparently, according to my computer, but who knows she ("Irene") could be in a whole other time zone, country, or something like that. And, "Irene", just so's you know; I'm a Virgo. You've got to do your research.  I have had life insurance for many years, what you did do was remind me to remind my insurance company that I do have to pay my yearly premium in March.  (For some reason this task falls to me--they seem to fall behind every year on this. Car, condo insurance people are right on with their deadlines--my life insurance rep seems to be running perpetually behind).  I have also, thank you VERY much, finished writing my thank-you notes. All I have left to do is send photos and 'general' notes to those I love because that's what I do. I like to make use of the postal service.
Anyway.
David Gray drones on, I wake up slowlyyyy after a veryyyy late night, and my thoughts are all jumbled.
Going to College Street Bar for my sis's birthday last night has left me a bit short on the sleep department. A late-night junket to Chinatown (Mike is heating up leftovers right now) kept us out later than I planned to (Mike has the gift of being able to stay up all night, it's part of how he works, we are opposites this way) and now, as I age and my ability to be without sleep diminishes in direct proportion,   I sit here and try to write, try to wake up, and somehow get myself ready to run, then head over to my mom's (her last weekend at the house. Deep breaths), have family time and a nice dinner and help to organize some more for Thursday's move.
The thought that propelled me here to the blog wasn't really about the silly life insurance comment, but really, thinking about how young the people at College Street Bar were; how they had so much time and energy, investing in mating rituals,  looking gorgeous while doing it, and, for the most part, generally being clueless about their youth and how easy it all is, because, and I remember this clearly, it seems so goddamn hard at the time-it truly does. You go out, all dolled up, put yourself out there, you might be with some girlfriends, some guy friends, and you go, all wrapped up in hope, and then the night is over and maybe you're walking home late, in the dark, because that is one of the best feelings of freedom there is, that night-walk, the edge of the knife blade. And you arrived home, alone, the apartment is quiet and you poured another unnecessary drink, and your feet hurt from your heels and your long walk uphill, and you slept on the couch and woke up the next morning, alone, and it's gray out, but you're still okay, you're not afraid, not as afraid as you'll become, later.
That's what I was thinking about. Strange, huh? That you do miss the angst sometimes, the simplicity of it, the distillation.
That's me on a Saturday morning.
Going to go and call the birthday girl and autopsy our evening.
Have a lovely weekend....