Rudderless

[muckefuck]

Yesterday began with a very difficult conversation with one of my oldest and dearest friends. Well, not quite--there was the getting there, for which I had Nuphy as a companion half the trip. Thanks to us, he was able to fully enjoy Bear Night, creeping in at 4 a.m. to crash in our guest room. monshu pumped enough coffee into him to make him mobile and then we caught the Clark bus together, which he planned to ride all the way downtown so he could breakfast at the Gage. We parted at Addison, and the bus came with such remarkable timeliness that I made it bang on time despite having overshot my stop due to messed-up announcements.

After two hours of chatting, then Talking, then discussing, then bantering again, I felt numb and directionless. A beautiful afternoon was peaking around me and I couldn't decide what to do with myself. I was so underslept, I knew if I went home I ran the risk of crashing and ruining my sleep schedule--not to mention annoying monshu, who was trying to get some work done. I thought about calling a friend and hanging out, but I realised what I really needed at that moment was some quiet time to process everything I'd heard and said.

So I simply started walking. North, towards home, and then east, for the same reason. At every corner, I let myself be drawn up the most attractive prospect, keeping to the shade and avoiding major thoroughfares in favour of quiet side streets lined with trim bungalows. The exception was when I hit Irving Park; I was very conscious of being on the wrong side of the North Branch, so I followed this into Horner Park for a short stretch just to make sure I didn't get caught in a maze of dead-end avenues.

Soon after reaching the far bank, I crossed Western and it occurred to me how close I was to Lincoln Square, so I headed towards there with the thought of picking up a few things. (More honey, perhaps? Oh, and shaving cream from Merz Apotheke.) But it turned out to be in the throes of Maifest and I wasn't in the mood for that many drunk Chicagoans. Instead I found a comfy spot in Welles Park to camp out and try to read a little García-Márquez.

Then it occurred to me that there would be more to distract my eye if I were at Hollywood Beach, so I went up to Lawrence and caught an eastbound bus. But there was a chilly breeze off the Lake, and it drove me inland to the arms of Big Chicks. Diego and Coleman were there, as well as a smattering of bar buddies I might've seen had I gone out to Touché the night before rather than remaining on the deck entertaining my guests until 1 a.m. (Not a single regret there, trust me!)

I got so broad on a couple of drinks that I forgot my backpack there and had to go back for it. When I got home, the sausage-stuffed pancetta-wrapped pork roast (inspired by that Canadian porchetta!) and spinach-mushroom lasagne were already out of the oven. The chill had followed me here as well, making it too cool to eat al fresco, but perfect for having some of the maya hot chocolate from Soma while the Old Man and I chatted about what to do when forced to face the fact that some things are not as you would like them to be and never will be.

Comments

[richardthinks.livejournal.com]

flaneur!

I haven't done anything like that for ages. I'm looking forward to doing a bit in Paris. Although maybe without the heavy emotional Talk to start off with.

[muckefuck.livejournal.com]

Yeah, I recommend forgoing that if you at all can. Although starting off with a fortifying drink (Guinness, in my case) is still highly recommended.