I don’t know about you, but I had a really nice weekend. It was full of pretty people and cute dresses and an interesting documentary and journal-writing at Fidel’s and lazy pajama-based mornings and a hubristic party and good talks and yummy hot chocolates and delightful cupcakes and a walk on the beach at Lyall Bay and a seriously fantastic show, so by the time I got home last night (late, for me, on a school night) I was patting myself on the back for knowing good people and living in a good place and having a good time during the first couple of days of sun we’ve had for several weeks. I mean, whatever, having a nice weekend isn’t any sort of triumph or anything but I was pleased with myself nonetheless.
I kept forgetting my camera for all the lively parts (drinks at Mighty Mighty, party that involved the abovementioned cupcakes and an actual kissing booth, dinner at The Tasting Room) but yesterday while hanging my sheets to dry I remembered to recharge the battery in preparation for my walk into town over the hill. The sun hasn’t been out much lately and it’s been so cold and wet and I haven’t felt like doing much except knitting and reading and lounging in front of the fire. I think Wellington in general was feeling the same way because this is what it had to say for itself when I finally got out into it.
It’s still winter, and I still want to keep quiet and lay low, but doesn’t it just feel amazing, all the same, to be with your people, to get out in the sun?