I'll follow you into the dark

Ready for some stream of consciousness? Set go. I caught a cold Sunday night. Add one and a half weeks of being stretched pretty thin plus many much-too-late bedtimes divided by a chilly three hour walk in the rain early Sunday evening. The upside of nasal headaches and running noses is that I always seem to experience a heightened and distorted sense of life during a cold. You know, like listening to someone breathe into a stethoscope. You certainly aren't hearing it "normal." But you hear it from the inside! When I'm sick I'm inside out. Well, I've never paired cold medicine with alcohol before because the label says not to. Except for last night at Peacock with Missy Murphy and Brigid Fitzsimmons - you'd really like her. We bitched about men, reveled in our strong-woman-ness, and toasted gin and tonics (one of Missy's toasts - Aahrg! - was more like a "primordial yawp"). We flirted with the idea of starting a bar fight. It's nice to feel out of control in a constant, dense sort of way. It's like the way your heart beat feels after a short burst of strenuous exercise. It feels out of control. But you know its spasms are all part of a constant rhythm that will continue until you die - which won't happen today or tomorrow or next week but many years from now. I'm also really into Death Cab at the moment. Last Thursday at open mic I was hovering over the sign in sheet when one last name caught my eye: "Patrie." It was attached to the firs name: "Rachel." I looked up at the girl leaning over the counter and asked her "do you know if Rachel Patrie is related to Ben Patrie?" This is the funny part. She said "yes she is." I asked, "do you know if she's here?" "I'm her," Rachel said. Her brother Ben was a friend of mine from high school that I've always regretted loosing touch with. He and his girlfriend of three years are getting married this spring - and Rachel is singing "I will follow you into the dark" in their wedding. That's poetic. I'm always trying to love people poetically, but I think it turns awkward so often. Well, maybe it is poetry but it's definitely slant rhyme. It's like I think I'm being subtle and that everyone else will discover the rhyme too, eventually, but can poetry be subtle? Not according to Austen's Margaret in Sense and Sensibility. I guess that loving awkwardly can be poetic in it's own way - think Ophelia? Gawd, no! Haha, I'll leave you with that!