It's hard to live the good life. You go out of a control at a party, and you're sitting around, surveying the scene around you. The wine flows and everybody has dazed, happy grins slapped on their faces. Music's pumping and everybody smells good: Marc Jacobs, Dolce e Gabbana Light Blue, Escada, always somebody with Cool Water or Polo Sport. You tell yourself, "I'm lovin' this, and I don't think it can get any better than this." Different people ooze in and out of your booth and it's sort of fun trying to figure out what this person wants when he's copping a feel under the table by gently grabbing your knee. Voices escalate and laughter gurgles around you. Lights flicker, and when you check your reflection in the mirrored wall, you don't let being noticeably red or having sort of lost the volume in your hair bother you too much, because the white dress you chose actually looks good against your tan. So life is pretty cool, after all.
But I wasn't being sarcastic. It actually is hard to live the good life, because everything after that seems to pale in the worst way. The Tylenol and a few cups of coffee can temporarily get rid of the hangover, but suddenly long stretches of silent solitude feel more barren than they should. You wonder a little about the things that you said the night before; the hands you clasped; the looks you exchanged; maybe even the kisses you gave. You can have it all at one moment, but in the next, you very often have nothing at all.
I'm in my "80's and Holocaust" phase right now. Only 80's music and Holocaust movies. It's a strange combination, but I really can't control what will arrest my interest on any given week.
posted by Lucy Sloan @ 12:37 AM
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