Last weekend I found myself in Baltimore, hon, and bore witness to quite the improbable comeback. It's a city for which I have very little love, excepting of course the presence of a dear one, who despite best laid plans I did not get to see. I always find it unsettling, and a little sinister, to be in someone else's city surreptitiously. Maybe it's because I love my own so much that I can't help but feel as though I'm breaking and entering, rifling through drawers, eating leftovers from the fridge. And that's sort of what I did, actually, a little breaking and entering (bars), rifling through (my boyfriend's) drawers, drinking vodka from the (mini)-fridge. All told it was nice, but I was happy to get home.
This weekend should be markedly different. I plan to actually pick up a book (and read it!), and hopefully utter not a single word to another human being until Tuesday morning. I've accidentally become addicted to Spooks so there will be many an episode to watch, I'm sure. Except oh shit, I forgot the Inauguration is Monday. So strike all that; I'm going out drinking. And it starts tonight, when Tom Poti finally makes his return to Washington. The last time we spoke I made him vaguely uncomfortable when for some reason It's not like I'm a creepy stalker or anything came out of my mouth. We'll see what the flask of whiskey hidden in my bag makes me say later. It'll probably be really scary.
