I’m at the House, and have been since last night. Interesting evening – people talk to me. I don’t understand why, but complete strangers just open up to me; several did so last night. Of course, the alcohol undoubtedly helped one of them, but the other was pretty sober. They still like me in the morning, though, so I guess that’s good…
I’m sitting in Adam’s room, using his computer, and reading Rolling Stone. People drift in and out to talk, or bring me things, to sing at me, or get hugs and kisses before drifting to other rooms. It just got much quieter, so I suspect they vacated to Dante’s and forgot to tell me they were leaving – they’ve been giving me a touch of space this morning, since I’ve been fighting off a migraine. (I’ll join them when I finish the article I’m reading…)
I commented elsewhere that my role here seems to be that of Number 6 – the lurking blonde who gives a running commentary on what’s going on, and offers moral advice and admonitions. The idea sort of cracks me up, but makes me feel a bit sad, too – seems to be the role I’m consigned to play, though, and I can’t say I completely hate it. It’s not so much functioning as a puppetmaster as it is blatant stage direction. Still, it’s a bit lonely a place to be.
I suspect it wouldn’t be so lonely if I actually looked like Number 6, but that’s a digression for another day…