on a tired night.

The honest truth is that I had a cold last week, and I didn’t write. It’s Sunday evening, and I’m sitting cross legged on the couch, with one of my knees bumping one of Jacob’s (because our couch is small). It’s chilly, and the windows are all wide open, and I could close them, but I haven’t. Instead I’m drinking tea and a massive broccoli rice hotdish is baking in the oven.

On Friday night, Jacob and I started to watch Seven Samurai because he’s been talking about it and I made a resolution to watch more classic films. It’s three and a half hours long. We both fell asleep an hour in, not because it was boring, but we were tired, and I had a cold, and I was drinking a giant hot toddy (because of the cold). I wasn't sure I even wanted to watch it, but now I'm anxious to finish it. I’ll report back when we actually make it to the end. But on Friday night, sleep was more important. 

We went to Rose’s Luxury last night to celebrate Jacob’s birthday with a few friends from New York. We put our names on the list at 5pm and got a table at 10pm. I normally don’t go for that sort of thing, but...it’s really good.

And now here we are. My brain and body are tired and empty. The week and weekend were long and full. There doesn’t seem to be anything else to say. But writing is writing, even when it’s vacant and pointless and bad. Being present is worth something.