December 28th, 2008

Places - Paris

Writer's Block: Easy Like Sunday Morning

Ah, Sunday, the day of rest. What's your favorite way to spend a Sunday morning?


Well, that's easy: At home, curled up with a cup of coffee with a book or going through the photos taken during that particular week.

New Year's Eve. New Year's! New Year's! New Year's! Everybody's asking me what I'm doing for New Year's. All of the nurses are so nosy. "What are you doing for New Year's? Are you going to any parties? Hosting one? Do you have a date? Are you staying in? Are you going to watch the ball drop?" This gets answered in a number of ways:

1. No. I am not watching the ball drop. I don't have a TV, Times Square is too hectic, and it's just a big shiny ball.
2. No. The last New Year's Eve party I went to, someone spilled beer all over my new white cashmere sweater. That also kind of settles the need for a date, since I'm not going anywhere.
3. No. I'm not hosting a "party", exactly. Too many people in my house is as hectic for me as going to Times Square. However...
4. Yes. I'm definitely staying in and inviting some guests. Claire is back in town. Viticus promised to stop in when I saw him by chance yesterday--sporting a pretty little ring around his left finger--and asked to bring one guest with him. Mr. E said he would try to be by. Cecile is staying in.

And tying us all together is a bottle of genuine verte absinthe one of my relatives manage to sneak through customs. (How they managed to do that, I have no idea, but it never fails that every year since I've been living on my own...) We'll be ringing in the New Year like a regular troupe of 19th Century Paris artists.

Honestly, what surprises me most is Cecile's decision to stay in with us, but I guess it really shouldn't. She's thriving a lot more now and really loves the job she has at this little bookstore a couple blocks from Central Park. I think she's beginning to recover from having her heart broken by that idiot she was seeing, even though she still talks about him like she's expecting him to just show up on our doorstep one day. I don't care that he's related to Mr. E. Cecile doesn't need some easily-jealous, smooth-talking, narcissistic, possessive, spineless-for-suddenly-dropping-contact-for-no-reason idiot in her life--especially when he's much older than her.

But what do I know? It was pointed out to me last night by Cecile that I appear to be in a most uncommon sort of relationship, but I beg to differ. Mr. E and have something that's love-based, but it's more like a love-based friendship than a real relationship. At least, this is what we've come to decide, considering our respective circumstances.

Not that it makes Cecile any less quietly jealous...