Interlude.

[rivka]

Long, long research day yesterday. It was almost ten by the time I got back to the guest house. I was too keyed up to sleep, but I was acutely aware that in eleven hours I would be back in the psych department waiting for my next subject. I knew that Misha would be busy watching the West Wing premiere. In an intellectual sort of way, I thought I should probably eat something, but I wasn't hungry and didn't feel like putting dinner together.

So I called my friend Jeff.

I'm not very good at keeping in touch with people. I've lost contact with a lot of friends whom I would rather still have in my life, mostly because of my own vagueness and failure to return letters. But Jeff and I have been friends for more than ten years. We go through periods of not much contact - probably my fault - and then we talk and it's as good for me as it always was. (Okay, in some ways it's better. We dated briefly when I was eighteen and hadn't yet figured out how to behave properly in a relationship. I think I was difficult. Yes, more difficult than I am now.)

It was a great conversation last night. I don't remember everything we talked about, but I remember laughing until I could barely catch my breath. (I half expect to go back to the guest house tonight and find a note from the people downstairs asking me to be quieter at night.) I came away feeling interesting and desirable, like there's more to me than boring dissertation drudgery. I felt comfortable and happy. After an hour on the phone, I was less tired than I had been when I'd gotten home. I had the energy to get up and fix myself bread and cheese for dinner. And I was relaxed enough to sleep soundly.

I needed that.

Comments

[saoba.livejournal.com]

"I came away feeling interesting and desirable, like there's more to me than boring dissertation drudgery."

You forgot the amazing Action Kung-Fu grip, she said helpfully.

There's a *whole* lot more to you, which I will cheerfully enumerate if it would help.