Spinner, Drawer, and Cutter of the Threads

(image taken from The Grindstone)

This past weekend was one that had begun with some rather haphazard but ultimately effortless and elegant plans; the filmmaker and his band, Double Ghost, have been on tour with indie group Fanfarlo, for the United States portion of their tour, so I had planned to catch up with him, see the show, and attend a Halloween costume party with some friends. As I was heading into the city from work late Friday afternoon, for a date night, and the costume party was scheduled for Saturday, I had to pull together a costume quickly and efficiently. Essentially, it had to be something that already existed and lived in my closet, and would be portable in my overnight Diane von Furstenberg weekend bag. My friend gave me an excellent and easy idea: Jackie Kennedy, or perhaps Jackie Onassis, depending on clothing trends and the era. I figured a simple, classically cut high-neck black dress would suffice, with some strings of pearls, some large-framed sunglasses, and a camel trench coat. I threw the ingredients together, hopped onto the train, and went with the filmmaker to the West Village.

Naturally, with my professional life in such seemingly calm and order, some tension and stress had to be incorporated somewhere, as the Moirae so frequently ordain. Friday evening, while listening to some jazz, quite spontaneously, my throat feels scratched and heavy. I am sick. In addition to ruining my entire weekend plans, I instantly grow nervous and anxious for other more important reasons, namely, my sister's impending labor and the birth of my niece I have been waiting for months to meet. To further complicate the ordeal, I am traveling next weekend to California, and would prefer to be completely healthy before being smashed into the back of a plane with various flotsam, jetsam, and nimrods from across the grand Garden State.

As I travel back to my town on the train, shivering and feeling wretched, a wet snow pours across the land, snow that is thick and congealing like blood. As soon as I arrive back to my apartment, my power fails, and remains out for over twenty-four hours. So, I spend most of the day cuddled into bed, sleeping. It becomes dark almost immediately, and stays that way for hours.

(images taken from Brooklyn Vegan)

Sunday, this evening, I was supposed to be in Brooklyn, at the Glasslands, watching the filmmaker and Double Ghost play a sold-out show, opening for Fanfarlo. Due to the inclement weather of yesterday, the unseasonable and tempestuous display of wintry pubertal aggression, the train service into Manhattan has ceased, until tomorrow. I sit here, alone, feeling unwell, and also feeling so disappointed to be missing this performance. There will be more, many more, in the future, however, I cannot help but feel forlorn, feel angry at this unforgiving act of the Fates.