rugasana

last friday i drove down to new york with my architecture school friend and classmate andrea to attend a memorial dinner and party for a classmate who died last summer. i hadn't seen most of my classmates in sixteen years. i was impressed by how good everyone looked. and not that anyone is getting senile just yet, but i was reminded of my grandmother who had alzheimers because, even though we'd all obviously aged a bit, like my grandmother in the midst of her decline, our personalities seemed utterly unchanged and entirely independent of our experience. we all had more stories, more things, more people in our lives, but our essences hadn't shifted one bit. my first boyfriend ever, john, said to me over dinner, "you seem just the same." my impression that the last sixteen years of my life had wrought tremendous change evaporated, perhaps through my eyes. it reminded me that the most efficient and peaceful way to live is to simply accept oneself, or better yet, celebrate oneself.

the party started at a restaurant called "park," an old parking garage, and moved on to a small living-room-like bar called "bongo" then proceeded to an apartment in the now chic gallery district of chelsea where we enjoyed more alcohol and delicious buttery egg sandwiches until 4:30am. at that point, andrea and i, not relishing the idea of crossing town and the river, begged a couple couches and a few blankets with which to crash.

in the morning, i did a little yoga with a rug thing over my head.