(no subject)

[sanura]

There's a warm serenity in me that hasn't been there at past cast events. I was amused, yes, and probably still insufferably smug or aloof or whatever antisocial tendency asserts itself during my sojourns with the inebriated, but-- it was easy, and though the same twinges come, they make the rest of the time all the softer. The customary drunken ego-stroking was endearing rather than a slight discomfort. Almost all the making-out I witnessed looked genuine, and the cross-preference flurries of activity held a very sweet and affectionate consideration for the enjoyment of the person on the receiving end. I could be benignly amused and not have to look away.

By this time, the end of us as a cast, I knew almost everyone there well enough to be comfortable getting a little shifty, too. The conversations I had with a drunk guitarist-Matt, a plastered Dan, a solicitous Burfy, a series of friendly almost-strangers who were deeply trusted by those I trust; the things I said were all from a decidedly feline perspective, as were my reactions to their inebriate conversation. I didn't find it necessary to leave at any point; Dan offered me a ride home and then disappeared, and soon thereafter the multiple passing-out started in full force, and my space on the couch was needed. So I kept Diego's lovely warm $1 down-stuffed vest-jacket thing, and walked home.

It was a walk that made every neighborhood venerable. The oaks of Houston may as well have been the overgrown orchard in Narnia, overhanging the brick boulevard between the mansions down North and South streets, every street light and house light and sidewalk light an orb of mana to shine for queens, the sheen and leaves on the asphalt the last leavings of winter. On the way to the light at Mandell I found what must have been the first really enthusiastic azaleas of spring, and stopped to consider them. The light was yellow, and yellow again and red before I got to the intersection. Walking makes distance real. It makes the world more real.

It reminds me of talking to Andy this afternoon about Wales, finding that you have to stop and get out of the car and realize if fairies and leprechauns exist, that's where they are; if Elves live in cities, they live in the dusk and dawn hours in the air across the corner of Ashby at 5:19 in the morning as I go to leave Diego his jacket. It reminds me of the shifted conversations hours earlier; if kissing is a good and worthwhile pursuit, if it's possible that it might move my heart and body, it's on the grass boulevard under the oaks on North street with the fairy lights all around me as I walk and sing Faure to myself.