In the company of certain gentlemen who prefer to remain nameless, I make the time management decisions of a fourteen-year-old girl. But I also have a blast, so I try not to take it out too hard on my twenty-four-year-old self. I have earned my tiredness, today, through a combination of bad decision making and a night of wonderful conversation.
Ilya, who has considerably more sense than I do, woke from our shabbat celebration considerably more rested than I–possibly because he actually slept. He and I walked into the bright morning, blinking and yawning, leaving our compatriot nestled into bed. Lucky bastard.
As we walkd back toward the studio, me limping along on the blisters I picked up from poor planning in Edinburgh, Ilya insisted on relieving me of the burden of my backpack.
He even managed to repair the strap, which I had MacGuyvered into functioning by knotting it. We dragged our sorry selves into the DoJ, where Ilya greeted the Italian doorman in Italian. Ilya is forever greeting people in languages that I didn’t know he knew. He is a one man ball of sunshine, happiness, and kittens.
Fortunately for my poor blistered feet, the elevator was still functioning. When you looked down our hall it appeared that the hall just launched you into the clear air outside.
Ilya and I wasted time trying to work and growing increasingly hungry. We talked about Waffle House and IHOP, and daydreamed about chicken and waffles, or bacon egg and cheese sandwiches. We thought about ordering food from somewhere, but discovered that none of the food delivery places here open until 5. Finally, we decided that we were going to have to take matters into our own hands before we passed out from exhaustion and hunger. So off we went, to the Uni shop, for supplies!
I had wrecked my feet on Friday by walking for hours and hours in Edinburgh in shoes that are not meant for that kind of walking, and couldn’t bear the idea of putting them back on, even for as short a walk as it was to the uni shop. Ilya, who was carrying his slippers in his bag, let me wear them (provided that I didn’t splash in any puddles.) He insisted that I wear his hat, and so we hobbled to the shop. It felt like the morning after prom, I said. Ilya laughed and agreed–the time of year was right, he said, and you’re always wrecked from staying up too late the night before. I pointed out that you often ended up barefoot or wearing only socks, and generally a too-big coat or something from a male friend.
The Uni shop is surprisingly well-stocked. We were able to procure eggs, cheese, bacon, baked beans, croissants, and two Cadbury cream eggs (after all, Easter is next week). Between those supplies and the brown sugar and milk in the studio, we put together a pretty impressive spread.
Alicia joined us for breakfast–she was in the studio working on her Data Battleship creation. She passed on a bacon, egg, and cheese croissant, preferring to simply dip the croissant in the bacon grease on the plate. It was an intensely satisfying breakfast that tasted to me of home and happiness. The atmosphere reminded me of the Saturday School program they had when I was in elementary school, when the building is empty and peaceful and the lights are off, but you still got to be there and learn the fun things. I seem to recall them feeding you fried pies and chocolate milk, as well. Shanna and I spent many happy Saturdays there.
Breakfast made things better, returning some of the energy to our poor bodies (which we really have been running ragged lately). We spent the rest of the day being productive, like good kids.