Friday into Saturday sucked beyond the telling of it.
Saturday night, though, was as good as it could be, I suppose. Anna, Agnes, and I helped Jon prepare a five-course meal full of hard-to-pronounce French words. (Our agreement is such that if I can teach him to pronounce it, he'll cook it.) I give you Jon's dish names, along with my translations. This was served with claret and sparkling water.
...or, for the rest of us...
So, yeah. Everything was good-- the salad and the steak being my favorite dishes. I didn't eat a lot, though. I'm pretty stressed out at present, and when I'm stressed, my body tends not to digest food too well, if I can even manage an appetite at all. The fresh fruit was good, though. Vitamins help.
While the meal was cooking, someone stuck Firefly into the DVD player, and we made it through 'The Message.' This line has always resonated with me:
Yes. I got the message, you could say. And time and time again this past year, it has been my friends with the strong arms. My friends who accepted me for who I am. My friends who did not berate me or take advantage of my weaknesses. My friends who offered support with no expectations, with no 'what's in it for me?' Just love-- pure love. Because that's what love is. So it's going to be okay.
After the meal, Agnes and Anna left, and Jon broke out his guitar. He played some blues songs he wrote, he played his hysterical parody of 'Free Fallin', he played classic rock and goofy sappy emo love songs to a backdrop of "Hope is Emo." He even got me to sing a little-- we did a little duet that I didn't know, and thus I massacred the (fairly simple) lyrics quite badly. I sang along to Rob Thomas's version of "Time After Time," and even showed off a little in Italian. His reaction? "How is it possible that you can't remember simple English words, but you remember Italian arias with no problem, you weirdo?" Which about sums it up. Then again, memorizing lyrics has never been my strong suit. Still, it helped me find my voice, as tear-choked and cobwebbed as it was, and it snapped me out of it a little.
And Abby loves me. I've got good, good friends. Amazing, nurturing people, the lot of you. It's gonna be okay.
Saturday night, though, was as good as it could be, I suppose. Anna, Agnes, and I helped Jon prepare a five-course meal full of hard-to-pronounce French words. (Our agreement is such that if I can teach him to pronounce it, he'll cook it.) I give you Jon's dish names, along with my translations. This was served with claret and sparkling water.
Course 1: Chèvre Frais au Coulis de Framboises
Course 2: Vietnamese Honeyed Lemon Pepper Chicken Salad
Course 3: Steak au Beurre de Roquefort
Course 4: Penne al Porto
Course 5: Fruit Tartlets
...or, for the rest of us...
Appetizer: Fresh, crusty bread in a vinegary, mustardy dipping sauce
Course 1: Special goat cheese with this amazing raspberry sauce
Course 2: Salad with savory chicken, fresh clementines & lychees
Course 3: Medium-rare filet mignon with this amazing herbed butter
Course 4: Agnes's vegetarian option-- fancy port wine mac & cheese
Course 5: Mini custard pies with kiwi, grape, fresh berries, and pineapple
So, yeah. Everything was good-- the salad and the steak being my favorite dishes. I didn't eat a lot, though. I'm pretty stressed out at present, and when I'm stressed, my body tends not to digest food too well, if I can even manage an appetite at all. The fresh fruit was good, though. Vitamins help.
While the meal was cooking, someone stuck Firefly into the DVD player, and we made it through 'The Message.' This line has always resonated with me:
Tracey: When you can't run anymore, you crawl, and when you can't do that...
Zoe: You find someone to carry you.
Yes. I got the message, you could say. And time and time again this past year, it has been my friends with the strong arms. My friends who accepted me for who I am. My friends who did not berate me or take advantage of my weaknesses. My friends who offered support with no expectations, with no 'what's in it for me?' Just love-- pure love. Because that's what love is. So it's going to be okay.
After the meal, Agnes and Anna left, and Jon broke out his guitar. He played some blues songs he wrote, he played his hysterical parody of 'Free Fallin', he played classic rock and goofy sappy emo love songs to a backdrop of "Hope is Emo." He even got me to sing a little-- we did a little duet that I didn't know, and thus I massacred the (fairly simple) lyrics quite badly. I sang along to Rob Thomas's version of "Time After Time," and even showed off a little in Italian. His reaction? "How is it possible that you can't remember simple English words, but you remember Italian arias with no problem, you weirdo?" Which about sums it up. Then again, memorizing lyrics has never been my strong suit. Still, it helped me find my voice, as tear-choked and cobwebbed as it was, and it snapped me out of it a little.
And Abby loves me. I've got good, good friends. Amazing, nurturing people, the lot of you. It's gonna be okay.
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