Sunday Night

I'm having a hard time settling down and writing today.  This was a social weekend -- I was out Friday night with JP at Krista's mustache party, which turned into a late, late Bucktown night out ending past 4am at the ever-notorious Marie's.

Last night, we celebrated Jess's upcoming wedding with a grownlady bachelorette party.  An adorable redhead from Wines for Humanity came and hosted a wine tasting.  Wine tastings are pretty fun.  I'm not particularly advanced at detecting notes and noses and finishes, but some of the wines make me want to eat certain things -- buttery pasta or strawberry pie.  Some of them trigger bizarre smell memories.  We tasted a French merlot that made me think of spaghetti at my Grandma B's house.  Turns out, I was picking up the green pepper in the wine.  By bottle number six, my notes on a Spanish Granache had deteriorated a bit: "fruity-fruity jelly yum."

I lost my shit over this cheese.

There was also a cheesemonger on hand who paired cheeses with the wines we were tasting.  Cheese is my favorite substance on earth.  I have given this a lot of thought, and if some demented deal-maker said to me that I either had to give up cheese or lose a whole year of life, I would take the cheese.  Same with a finger, or possibly an entire hand.  We tasted a Taleggio that actually caused goosebumps to climb up the sides of my neck.

Today was mostly spent sleeping and grappling with confusing dreams that involved Michigan black bears, lost text messages and lost love.  I can't shake this sense that somewhere, right around the corner, I'm going to find a definitive answer or a strategy to end the drifting.  But every Sunday, I find myself right back where I was. And maybe that's alright.