Only Opportunities at Hope

Earlier to-night I (drunkenly?) set my FaceBook status to read, "Rina's only opportunities of hope are in remembering the brief moments when you were hers, and hers alone." Then I hoped to write a bunch of memories of the people I love most in the world (funny how they all tend to be my Oxonian friends). I worried how lopsided it might seem on FaceBook, you know, only writing comments about Ox friends, so thought I would try it here, using nicknames (that some of them might not even recognize). I hope when I stumble across memories of these folk, I will bother to insert them here. For my posterity. For my sanity.

STJ: Running into you in your Grown Up Clothes as you parked your bike at Broad/Cornmarket.
Aimz: you sitting on the counter with a bottle of fortified wine the first night I met you. Also, the evening with you me, and Marie (Easter?) when you and I sat on your front stoop and made out (again).Giggling, arm-in-arm, on our way to Tesco's to buy wine on my first night back in town; Giggling, arm-in-arm, on our way to Tesco's to buy wine on my first night back in town.
Pumpkin: you telling me that "loo" is what your mum calls it; also, our only Rose + Rina night in flat night with wine on my bed; Crawling into your bed at 3am after a crazy library stint apologizing for smelling like cigarettes and you says "it's OK I like it."; Giggling, arm-in-arm, on our way to Tesco's to buy wine on my first night back in town.
Dom: Reaching blindly into your window to find your keys to slip into your room to catch up on sleep before my tutorial. puking up your sleeve in that cab;
Al: you being the only one there when I finally realized where my passport was -- and then me suggesting opening a bottle of wine to celebrate the recovery of it.
Grump: your cane -- gawd, make it stop!; Black Books night with Pringles and wine
La Mia: your colors and light and scarves -- not just who you are, but that of yourself which you lent to others -- your wooden earrings and your hippie trousers (or were they rose's who cares that's half the charm) -- and being the one I slept with, and then the one I accidentally kicked out of bed, what with my vigorous sleeping; Biking past your window and looking up to see your refrigeratorables on the sills;
Hugging you in the in-progress porter's lodge, despite my biker's sweat; You leaving your door ever-unlocked for the greater good.
HT: Talking about your shoes' issues in the Wadham pub.
Most of you: HUMMUS.

Many people, much loved.

Even It Out

Part of me wants to avoid addressing this subject here; I am so much more, so much better than this. But right now (for so long!), it's the only thing on my mind:

I cannot remember the last time I had a meal when I enjoyed it and relaxed and ate and breathed and didn't examine its many facets, didn't analyze what it meant, what I must do or couldn't do or should do or had done to make it all "OK," to even out the numbers, to drink it away or throw it up or throw it away or anything.

Do people just eat? CAN people just eat? Is it simple for anyone?

Face Value

My life can easily and truthfully be taken at face value. Recently, if I've ever been the least bit upset, my mother has asked if there's anything else wrong than whatever triggered me (generally something pertaining to my father). I think she expects that some boy in my life is upsetting me or I am upsetting myself over some boy. That used to be an often-enough occurrence.

But that is not the case. These days, any upset is straightforward and simple. I am peacefully alone, and lonely in my peace. Instead of drama, I speak through my fingers, I breathe smoke and sea salt through my nose, I drink water and wine in one gulp. I live at face value.