So, brunch! Walked to the rendezvous point, which was a longer walk than expected, but ultimately good - have not been walking much, due to feeling craptastic (staggering to the co-op does not count as proper exercise). Never underestimate the pick-you-up power of just being in the world with other human beings, esp. if the wind reminds you of Susannah McCorkle's recording of "The Waters of March." Also, never underestimate the psychological uplift of the correct pair of blue jeans, in the appropriate size, color and cut.

Brunch itself was quite the lovely, as I got to spend more time with people I am just starting to know better, and meet some new people. Still felt vaguely awkward about this - though no one can tell unless you tell them, am really feeling a teensy bit too fragile to be around people much. Still, one must try, and it was helpful that one member of the party was an accomplished storyteller in a very natural way, so that his tales just spun out over the course of the afternoon, keeping us in stitches. And I marveled that such people as he described really existed, and had had the adventures he described.

Also, somebody brought fresh oysters, and though I declined to participate, it was fascinating to watch. Shucking = highly intriguing. Was v. concerned that somebody was going to slip with one of those complicated little knives and cut self, but it didn't happen, thank goodness.

What's most interesting, though, from own perspective, is that the more I try to meet new people, and try new things, is the growing realization that my life so far has been quite limited. I grew up in the state next door, have only ever lived in three cities, and, while have accomplished far more than most people who grow up in my hometown ever do, have really not been exposed to the sorts of kinds of adventures and people to which am being exposed now. The dual thoughts that run through my head are, first, "Holy crap, I feel like such a hayseed. I've never been anywhere, done anything, etc.," followed by "But now I totally could, if I want to. Do I want to?" If the answer's honestly "no," I let myself off the hook about it and move on. Or try to. Some days, it's easier than others. But then, one always has a choice about what to focus on. This, too, is easy to forget, especially when one is sick, sad, or tired. Besides, it's all relative, right? I've had adventures other people haven't, and it's not a contest.

One thing that really comforts me is that I can totally take care of myself, if I have to. Am doing it right now, and that rather well, under the circumstances. I have loads of help, but the important thing is, I think, that I'm not sitting around waiting for somebody to rescue me. I'll take all the assists I can get, but I don't want anybody to do the work for me, even if such a foolish volunteer existed, and could pull it off.

*pauses*

Everybody remind me I said that next time I fall into a black mood. Agreed?

*twinkle twinkle*

For my listening pleasure, Shirley Horn's But Beautiful. Love, love, love Ms. Horn's voice: alto, sophisticated, smooth. You can hear, in her voice, how much she's lived. Problem is, don't like most of the arrangements: they just don't seem to do justice to her voice. To be fair, you kind of have to be in the mood to wallow for some of these cuts, esp. "Here's to Life." Jazz is not, however, for wallowing, IMHO, unless it's 2 a.m., post-revelry, as you remove your jewels and look out the window, wondering what the future holds for you. The snazzier arrangements of "I Just Found Out About Love," and "The Great City" suit Horn's worldly-wise outlook and delivery much better, like a perfectly-tailored Chanel suit. If you listen really carefully, you can hear the click-click of little heels on the beat as the songs take you forward. The burnworthy track is, of course, "Loads of Love," with its wry, amusing take on what a woman wants. Note the order of the priorities; of all the recordings of this song I've heard, I like Horn's best, simply because can hear in her voice everything she's gone through to get to the point where she can ask for what she wants, with loads of quiet confidence, nary a trace of self-pity, and a throaty little chuckle as she messes with the lyric on the bridge.

*fangirls*

Breakfast = leftover couscous, with a little maple syrup and some butter.

Cold = mostly vanquished, thank goodness.

Outlook calendar = packed, heaven help me. Sigh.

Realization = Holy crap, am that girl. I rather like that.

*ducks head, shyly*

Next up = whipping a little dialogue into submission.

That is pleasantly surprisedly all.