Memorial Hangover
Sorry for the lack of posts...
My house mate's (we'll call him D) memorial was Saturday. No one wore black, there were few tears (at least not until later). He had some wonderful friends. I have the fortune of getting to know a few of them now.
I've come to know so much more about this man after his death than I ever knew when he was alive. He was a caring, judgemental, loving, smartass. He would give anything to anyone and ask for nothing in return, but he would never hesitate to criticize anyone for anything at any time. He was honest, creative, caring, and above all else, I've learned, he was who he was. That's actually kinda rare.
His close friend from New Orleans is moving in now. Her daugher is here visiting, dealing with some issues of her own. She's actually going through the same drug problem I went through almost ten years ago. I can see her coming out of it, but her mother is shouldering every bit of it along with her. This woman is one of the most charismatic, colorful people I've met in some time. She's traveled across the country, owned her own business, and every time I sit with her for a glass of wine or a bottle of beer (maybe the other way around), she has a new story to tell me.
And here she is in Arlington, having lost her business to Katrina, her best friend to AIDS, her New Orleans unemployment check to a beauracratic snafu, and what she worries about most is the recovery of her daughter. And yet...she spent her last $20 tonight on chicken so we could cook for a few friends and our housemates upstairs. This is a woman who knows sacrifice and I'm glad she's here - I think I have some things to learn from this incredible woman. She can be obnoxious, rude, invasive and abrasive. But every word that comes from her mouth is breathed with honesty and clarity. No fuzzy lines, no gray areas. This is how it is. I'm learning to really appreciate this about her. She reminds me of Mark in many ways.
So I woke up yesterday, after the memorial, with a hangover that all other hangovers should pay homage to. I thought I was going to vomit at any given moment all day long. Once I finally gained the strength and stamina to go to the store for a few groceries, I realized I'd missed a sunny-sky 70-degree paradise of a day. As I got close to home the nausea had started anew, and I walked into the back yard to discover my room mates and the owner of the house chatting around the lawn table. Perfect timing. We'd never met her. She had only just found out about the death of the man who held the lease. Issues. Always issues. I thought I was finally going to vomit.
I think she liked us, but she gave us a week to determine whose name the lease would be in. Our New Orleans friend, (I think from here on I'll call her Martis Gras), is goint to take the lease. I'm going to offer to split it with her.
While D was running the house, everyone kept to themselvfes. The living room and kitchen stayed the same. Nothing was moved, the dishwasher was loaded in a specific, do-not-tamper-with fashion, and once a week everything was removed for cleaning, and replaced in exactly the same way. Hence, I never knew my room mates. It just wasn't a social atmosphere. At all.
Since Martis Gras arrived, a new life has been breathed into our house. We chat, cook dinner, clean. Together. D left a few of us with something really wonderful - each other. I've lived here for five months, and I missed out on some nifty individuals. D was the only thing we had in common. But we never knew each other.
As the owner questioned all of us, eyed us up and down and tried to get a feel for who we were, all I was thinkiong of is how, if it didn't work out, we would have to find a five or six bedroom house for all of us. I missed out on these people for too long. Not losing them now.
That's enough now for tongiht. I'm going to go to bed now, listening to Martis Gras's Cowboy Junkies CD playing in the living room upstairs. Sometimes, a little noise in the background isn't bad. I didn't realize how much I'd missed it.
My house mate's (we'll call him D) memorial was Saturday. No one wore black, there were few tears (at least not until later). He had some wonderful friends. I have the fortune of getting to know a few of them now.
I've come to know so much more about this man after his death than I ever knew when he was alive. He was a caring, judgemental, loving, smartass. He would give anything to anyone and ask for nothing in return, but he would never hesitate to criticize anyone for anything at any time. He was honest, creative, caring, and above all else, I've learned, he was who he was. That's actually kinda rare.
His close friend from New Orleans is moving in now. Her daugher is here visiting, dealing with some issues of her own. She's actually going through the same drug problem I went through almost ten years ago. I can see her coming out of it, but her mother is shouldering every bit of it along with her. This woman is one of the most charismatic, colorful people I've met in some time. She's traveled across the country, owned her own business, and every time I sit with her for a glass of wine or a bottle of beer (maybe the other way around), she has a new story to tell me.
And here she is in Arlington, having lost her business to Katrina, her best friend to AIDS, her New Orleans unemployment check to a beauracratic snafu, and what she worries about most is the recovery of her daughter. And yet...she spent her last $20 tonight on chicken so we could cook for a few friends and our housemates upstairs. This is a woman who knows sacrifice and I'm glad she's here - I think I have some things to learn from this incredible woman. She can be obnoxious, rude, invasive and abrasive. But every word that comes from her mouth is breathed with honesty and clarity. No fuzzy lines, no gray areas. This is how it is. I'm learning to really appreciate this about her. She reminds me of Mark in many ways.
So I woke up yesterday, after the memorial, with a hangover that all other hangovers should pay homage to. I thought I was going to vomit at any given moment all day long. Once I finally gained the strength and stamina to go to the store for a few groceries, I realized I'd missed a sunny-sky 70-degree paradise of a day. As I got close to home the nausea had started anew, and I walked into the back yard to discover my room mates and the owner of the house chatting around the lawn table. Perfect timing. We'd never met her. She had only just found out about the death of the man who held the lease. Issues. Always issues. I thought I was finally going to vomit.
I think she liked us, but she gave us a week to determine whose name the lease would be in. Our New Orleans friend, (I think from here on I'll call her Martis Gras), is goint to take the lease. I'm going to offer to split it with her.
While D was running the house, everyone kept to themselvfes. The living room and kitchen stayed the same. Nothing was moved, the dishwasher was loaded in a specific, do-not-tamper-with fashion, and once a week everything was removed for cleaning, and replaced in exactly the same way. Hence, I never knew my room mates. It just wasn't a social atmosphere. At all.
Since Martis Gras arrived, a new life has been breathed into our house. We chat, cook dinner, clean. Together. D left a few of us with something really wonderful - each other. I've lived here for five months, and I missed out on some nifty individuals. D was the only thing we had in common. But we never knew each other.
As the owner questioned all of us, eyed us up and down and tried to get a feel for who we were, all I was thinkiong of is how, if it didn't work out, we would have to find a five or six bedroom house for all of us. I missed out on these people for too long. Not losing them now.
That's enough now for tongiht. I'm going to go to bed now, listening to Martis Gras's Cowboy Junkies CD playing in the living room upstairs. Sometimes, a little noise in the background isn't bad. I didn't realize how much I'd missed it.
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