I awoke this morning to my small DVD player sitting atop my stomach; "Adaptation" was playing. Or, rather, the DVD menu to Adaptation was playing on repeat as I twisted and turned, subconsciously trying not to harm my little DVD player. While I was in Colombia, the former tenant of my room came and removed my bed, my desk (found a new one on the street and carried it up, all by myself!), and my nice TV, which was mounted to the wall.
Hendrix, our dog, was scratching on my door -- my head was pounding with some pigflu-type illness that has been idly annoying me since we got back from Colombia.
I lay there looking up at the ceiling, wishing I were at least looking up at something that made me happy; instead, I was looking at a white, barren wall, no more promising or happy than a tin surface reflecting the inside of a tubular wormhole, with concentric circles whose overlapping areas were empty.
Ahh, yes -- but then I went to a pool party.
I traipsed all the way to Union Square (hmmm, a few blocks), got on the Subway and went alone to a daytime pool party -- me, someone who balks at interactions with folks I don't really know. And, I had a great time.
I even got to talk about movies with random new friends who must've thought I was a recluse with nothing better to do with her time than go hang out with acquaintances -- outside her own neighborhood.