3.8.05

the other night, sarah and i were at one of the more popular folk pubs in edinburgh, a place called the royal oak. there was a man there who looked like a paler version of colin firth; he came in immediately after we did. i apologized to him when we bumped into each other, navigating the bar. once downstairs, in a smoky den of worn fake velvet, he sat near the singers. i didn't pay attention to him for a few hours.

at one point, though, i looked over at him during a particularly melancholy female solo. he was crying, the picture of absolute dejection. he was drinking steadily, pouring it down his throat. obviously alone. he began picking the lint off the back of an older man sitting near him; they clearly had no relationship. the linted man didn't notice. the crying man had the look of the recently dumped; who knows, though. perhaps that's just what he does when he's drunk.

i love the apartments in my neighborhood. i love their cozy, tiny lawns, decoration crammed into every possible space. i love looking into twilight windows, seeing cats perched on sofas and husbands reading. someone on marchmont has had a tent set up in their living room for a week now. it's very yellow.

most important, though, are the cats. kitties. all i have to do is see one and i've had a good day. this makes it starkly obvious just what my state of emotional fulfilment is. i don't like the vulnerability it illustrates, but i can't help it; i do like the kitties.