And so... a birthday party for Andrew, thrown mostly by his partner Michael and a number of helpful friends, in their large house. With many people from different places, who have different styles... lots of fun, the usual rambunctious cheer in some rooms, quieter and more relaxed in others, and a lot of talking and laughter along the cornered hallway; dancing in the room where the stereo is, sitting where the couch is, eating where the dining room table is, and of course there is that group that will never, ever, leave the kitchen, that hands back and forth an endless range of empty and the full bottles of champagne, and washes glasses....
Talking to J. (with a surprise), talking to R. (things seemed to be going well), talking to D. Talked to P. at some length, surprisingly intimate about life and experience and anxiety. B. told us he wants us all to go on holiday to Barcelona and Benidorm – we said we need dates before we can decide anything – but it's not a bad idea (at least not the Barcelona part). Andrew's mother in a light dress, standing comfortably with my arm steadying her across her back as she talks to everyone in the hallway – she always enjoys being with her son's friends...
One of the best things I have ever read was the collection of eight stories, Mrs. Dalloway's Party, by Virginia Woolf. The stories were preliminary sketches, warmups, and afterthoughts for the novel – usually when they appear in larger collections, they seem scattered and unfocused among other stories about quite different places and people; but someone was once brilliant enough to collect and publish them as a powerfully integrated set.
Such amazing stories... each about the inner world of one person, or actually more often about two or three; the young girl in a new party dress, who is proud of the mark on the essay returned to her that day but then shattered by the casual dismissal of a more fashionable schoolmate; the fiery young man who can barely express his intense thoughts trying to relate to other people or figure out why it is so eternally difficult to do so....
Not all of these people are helpless, at a loss, at a painful angle to the party: but many of them are, and I have too often felt that way myself, even at the best of parties: the introvert's chaotic and unreasonable response, the inability to synchronize one's feelings with the conversation, with the celebratory touches, with the other people at the party, well-meaning as they may be.
But tonight was calm, and full: though I have had so many exasperations lately – the extra classes I have to teach, the long train trips to Leicester for my new psychoanalyst – tonight I felt complete, without unmet needs from the party: granted, I probably ate more than I needed to; but connecting to people was easy and comfortable, talking about things that mattered was constantly recurring without pressure, and it all seemed meaningful, unfolding like the flowers she loved....
It does, I suppose, get better – Clarissa....
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