If ever I prove false to you, bright day will turn to night

The problem with an epic weekend (especially one that lasts four days) is that by the time it's over, you are no longer in any condition to write up the experience. Once more into the sleep deprivation.

Some number of years ago, I promised the person who loved me then that I would dance at their wedding. That was this weekend. It is not that I wanted any longer to marry them, but they were very important to me for a long time, very tightly bound into a period of my life that in the end hurt me very badly, and our entire emotional history was complicated to begin with. They tended to make me come unstuck in time. I was not sure if I was simply going to fall apart around the ceremony. Our last few interactions had not been encouraging. Because he is one of the best things that has happened to me so far this year, derspatchel agreed to go with me—if nothing else, to be an anchor, someone who was not part of that time when my life was entirely different and looked to continue that way. The wedding was on Sunday, so we decided we might as well make a weekend in D.C. out of it. We made arrangements for a hotel in Dupont Circle and packed lots of books. On Friday morning, having received an unexpected and welcome lift to Sullivan Square from nurrynur, we took the regional out of South Station and spent the rest of the day on a train.

( Pardon me, is everybody here? Because if everybody's here, I want to thank you all for coming to the wedding. )

Mostly today was aftercare. Some hours on my job which I had not been able to work since Thursday, early dinner at The Painted Burro (too loud for my comfort, but queso fundido! really good flan with orange-flower water and plums!) in Davis Square. I came home and watched a film noir with Robert Young on TCM. I read some more of the last of my trip books. I feel like a truckful of hammers hit me. I had an epic weekend.

And I am very glad I did.