Saturday, September 1st, Version 1

[olimay]

One

I had a good time last weekend. Zach and Adam conspired for me to come to NYC, and I borrowed some money and managed to go. We went to the Met, along with Adam's friend Jing. Just as we were leaving, my cousin Ross joined up with us.

All five of us made our way across Central Park and puzzled for a while about what to eat once we reached the West Side. I was on a five dollar budget, but tried not to make that big a deal of it. On Adam's suggestion, we went to Trader Joe's on Amsterdam. I couldn't figure out a way to get my requisite monsterous amount of protein from a non-dairy source, so I settled on a cheap humus tray, which we could share. Everyone bought some stuff and we had a small picnic back in the park.

I dragged everyone on a detour to see Lawrence and Connie at their apartment on 43rd in Hell's Kitchen, figuring it would be nice for two branches of my LJ friends to meet each other. But our hosts had just gotten back from a 10 day trip earlier in the afternoon, Zach was eager to reunite with Ruchi (just released from a med school studying stint) back at his place, Ross hadn't slept, and I figured that Adam, though quite fascinated with a book Lawrence had gotten at Princeton's Labyrinth bookstore, was eager to get to the part of the evening involving beer. We closed the meeting by discussing some history of New York and New Jersey's respective claims over Staten Island, which lasted until the 1830s. We made our goodbyes; Ross departed for an Express Bus.

Zach, Adam, Jing and I zig-zagged down 8th and 7th Avenues, then across town to Zach's apartment on 26th St. It was just growing dark, and Ruchi met us outside. She declared that we had been drafted as test subjects for her blood pressure reading practice, and that I'd have to take off my shirt, since I was wearing long sleeves.

I hadn't been up to Zach's apartment in more than a year. We pulled up some chairs, and I retrieved the humus, to continue eating. Craft beer flowed freely. Zach's friend Joe from Toronto (and fellow Rate Beer member) came by at just the right time. That, combined with Jing very, very enthusiastically volunteering helped me to escaped being an unprepared test subject for Ruchi. We spent the rest of the evening enjoying good beer and drifting back and forth between conversations.

Near midnight, Adam, Jing, and I said goodbye to Zach and Ruchi. I hadn't seen each of them in person for more than a year--and yet someone saying goodbye didn't seem much like an awkward big deal. These are my friends! I see and talk with them all the time, some part of my brain registered. Our reunion glided smoothly and naturally to a close.

Sometime past midnight last Saturday, Adam and Jing walked me back across town to Penn Station. We had a short conversation that touched upon increasing homelessness in NYC, frequency of brain trauma among the homeless, and maybe that lining up for Saturday night club-going just seemed over appealing, even though I do like to dance (poorly).

In the New Jersey Transit waiting area, I spent a good half hour slumped against a column, waiting for the various mob to gather for the last train of the night. It's become one of my least favorite parts of these infrequent trips--surrounded by lively bunches of partygoers. It's been 10 years since I left high school, four years since the tail-end of NYU, and I still feel intimidated by people who resemble the popular crowd, especially when they seem to be having a lot more fun than me.

This has a tendency to rattle me, and thoughts get stirred up. Being cognizant of my superficial reactions to other people often creates some kind of feedback loop. I have to coach myself about how to handle my own, tired thoughts so that they don't end up collapsing in on themselves. There's always the chance of mildly depressive thoughts intensifying into a deafening squeal.

Whatever I feel was lacking in these trips, I usually pick something having to do with me. Hadn't I dressed like an idiot today, and not even noticed that my navy blue shirt had accumulated white stains by midday? Hadn't I told the same jokes everyone was tired of about the steam engine pipe organ and the tiny violin, and trying to get into the every time someone joined our group? Hadn't I bent everyone unnecessarily to my own agenda? Hadn't I been a shitty conversationalist all day? Hadn't I made myself look like a fat tool by attempting to eat as much of the humus as possible throughout the evening? Isn't it embarrassing that I can only see some of my friends, who live such a short train ride away, only once every few months? Isn't it pathetic that I let my life get in such bad shape that I don't have in-person friends on a regular basis?

Maybe I thought about these things. I probably bounced between that and being self conscious among these random people. But somehow, I managed to avoid falling into an endless struggle. As the track appeared for the train, it was a sign that I'd escaped something of final confrontation with my own mental vices. Riding back along with me, a good visit, unmarred, complete.