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Saturday, 7 September 2013

Long distance tertulia

Can't believe there's no widespread use of the word "tertulia" in English, nor a translation for it. While it used to refer to BIG night meetings where the BIG people with BIG ideas got together to celebrate the arts and their intellects, I think it's fair to apply the term to a less grand modern equivalent. In the context of this post, I want to propose a looser definition:

ter·tu·lia /ter'tulja/
Night gathering of friends where questions of vague ontological and philosophical value are discussed, likely in a dimly lit room spiced up by the sound of someone playing the guitar. And alcohol. Or other mind-altering substances.

Admittedly, it's also "Kind of like those That 70s show circles, except the conversations need not be quite so dumb, alcohol is probably involved, and weed is optional." But the above definition sounds nicer, doesn't it?

I think it's fair to say I remotely joined SmTn in a tertulia at his friend's summer place. Out of the blue, at a time clearly past midnight in his timezone, he sent me a message with a link to a Guns N' Roses song. He explains he's in this gathering thing with friends and I fall in love with the idea because I've romanticised tertulias in my mind ever since I decided I like interesting conversations. SmTn even sent me a link to a video of one of his friends (wrestling buddy who can tear trees out from their roots, no less) playing the guitar and singing along to it. It was quite lovely, in its own way, and decidedly adorable. Then, I imagine, SmTn fell asleep and stopped messaging me. The fact that the messaging was glitchy and failing to deliver all messages was probably not helping us maintain a proper conversation of any kind. Not that there was much of a conversation to be had, he was quite drunk. Not that you'd be able to tell from the messages alone (except for their very late night/early morning and random nature? especially for their very late night/early morning nature), but he admitted it this morning. Nevertheless, I'd like to believe he remotely invited me to his tertulia and I enjoyed it. 

Now, dream wise, I had two distinct dreams. In one, N1 was very made up in a way that was ever so slightly reminiscing of a cheaper show girl. She asked for my advice on whether a certain bra looked good on her. She was on her way to meet her boyfriend, I reckon. I had good advice to give her, regarding how she was dressed up and something about her boyfriend not being an incredibly good person. Can't remember what it was exactly but I couldn't tell her because she wouldn't listen and she actually got a bit angry. 

In another dream, there was this French soap opera actor. Quite famous in his day, don't know if that's still true nowadays. I remember him as being the sweep-you-off-your-feet well-meaning Prince Charming. In my dream he and I were just talking. At some point he gave me advice on doing some odd movement in the gym where I lay down on the floor and tried to lift my torso by standing on my hands and feet, something I haven't even attempted since I was... 13? At one point, I remember him holding my hand in his and I remember softly caressing it, much like I did LesMisGuy's. And he caressed my hand back. In my dream it meant he had feelings for me. In my dream I was glad he did because it meant someone wonderful liked me for me (you know, like in the Frank Sinatra song: "Unforgettable.") It means nothing now that I've woken up. Not for this particular actor. Rather, for what he stands for. And the fact that I've found myself thinking of the benefits of having a boyfriend you can come home to and asking for a neck rub (yes, it more often than not leads back to the neck squeezes I got from LesMisGuy). 

The big pink elephant in the room is how uncomfortable I am with the idea of SmTn drunk texting me. It's opened a door I didn't even know was there and now I'm half-wondering if he won't say something he shouldn't if he makes a habit out of it. Maybe he won't, though, and this is the only time he'll drunk text me. Even so. I feel like some invisible barrier was broken somewhere and I'm afraid to step on the broken glass.

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