I said to Stella, "This feels like it did around Christmas, like the weight of the season is on top of us."
"That's because it is," she said, bluntly, which is her fashion. It's why I call her, why my phone bills are never anything to sneeze at, why I light candles to Alexander Graham Bell and those brilliant, utterly practical Wright brothers.
I was hoping Chicago would shake me free, and it did, for a minute or two. Giggling has its uses, as does food I'd never eat at home, and shoes I didn�t buy, because God help me, I just may have enough shoes. Dancing wildly to 80's gay anthems, and whipping my hair around to Bon Jovi also has its uses, as does wiggling my arse and vamping for a camera. Lounging in easy chairs and across giant clouds of bed, and walking through artist-filled parks with girls who know so many things that I don't know will forever be useful, will forever be treasured.
But now I'm back, and the weekend away with the lovely girls seems so far away, and the heaviness sits on my brain.
It's the weight of the season, you see. Thank God for airplanes, and telephones, and time.
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