I went to a party this weekend–the kind with save-the-dates and RSVP’s.
A twenty-four hour party, in a house full of favorite people.
We had long conversations,
and random, hilarious exchanges in the kitchen, doubling over and holding the counter for support.
As the light faded, a surf band materialized…
and a truckload of barbecue,
margaritas in mason jars,
ping pong, dancing,
and heat lamps on the giant patio.
Then, around 10 pm, I started thinking about that great book in my bag,
and the pile of pillows on my fuzzy blanket
and I wondered:
am I a little under the weather? Or just old?
Special bonus! One of my favorite poems of all time:
Was it for this I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past eight?
– Edna St. Vincent Millay