Hataitai
I am staying at the house of ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ablackart and leaflemming while they’re in the South Island, for about a week. Today landingtree and justy visited, in the brief overlap of them being in the city, and Sam was coming by independently, so we all hung out and drank tea and cordial and ate, and then justy went to her plane and Sam went home and we decided that landingtree would stay another half hour or so; which, with the consumption of beer, ended up becoming seven hours or so, before we realised the next bus was the last bus and he really did have to go.
And it turns out this is something I really, really like. The last time I had a large nice house to invite people to for food and drink was in my last year at home when I had the Onewhero house to myself for the odd weekend; when I think back I loved it then too; I’d almost managed to forget. There was one night, the night after my eighteenth birthday, my friends came over and we played risk and I made lasagne, one of them brought beer, and one of them brought home-brewed peach-flavoured stuff that made anyone who had some go slightly cross-eyed. I was new-mintedly non-cis and bi and I was looking at everything in the world like someone just woken up from a very long, vaguely unpleasant dream who can’t quite believe their luck. After most of us had gone to bed my best friend and now sudden, intense crush and me stayed up reading to each other in the book room. In the morning we talked like we’d talked before and never talked after.
And that was not where I meant this post to go, but. Things echo forwards. I guess that evening, those evenings, were why I called myself seahearth, a year later when I felt friendless and placeless. And now, having abandoned this blog and come back to it, and left Wellington and come back to it, and made a few friends, and found Sam and ended up with a little place for us to live in— here I am in this fine house with an oven I can bake in and a view out over the Orongorongos, going too late to bed after drinking and talking with someone I love — who has seen Europe.
ablackart and leaflemming while they’re in the South Island, for about a week. Today landingtree and justy visited, in the brief overlap of them being in the city, and Sam was coming by independently, so we all hung out and drank tea and cordial and ate, and then justy went to her plane and Sam went home and we decided that landingtree would stay another half hour or so; which, with the consumption of beer, ended up becoming seven hours or so, before we realised the next bus was the last bus and he really did have to go.And it turns out this is something I really, really like. The last time I had a large nice house to invite people to for food and drink was in my last year at home when I had the Onewhero house to myself for the odd weekend; when I think back I loved it then too; I’d almost managed to forget. There was one night, the night after my eighteenth birthday, my friends came over and we played risk and I made lasagne, one of them brought beer, and one of them brought home-brewed peach-flavoured stuff that made anyone who had some go slightly cross-eyed. I was new-mintedly non-cis and bi and I was looking at everything in the world like someone just woken up from a very long, vaguely unpleasant dream who can’t quite believe their luck. After most of us had gone to bed my best friend and now sudden, intense crush and me stayed up reading to each other in the book room. In the morning we talked like we’d talked before and never talked after.
And that was not where I meant this post to go, but. Things echo forwards. I guess that evening, those evenings, were why I called myself seahearth, a year later when I felt friendless and placeless. And now, having abandoned this blog and come back to it, and left Wellington and come back to it, and made a few friends, and found Sam and ended up with a little place for us to live in— here I am in this fine house with an oven I can bake in and a view out over the Orongorongos, going too late to bed after drinking and talking with someone I love — who has seen Europe.