Listening to a sad song tonight and it can't make me sad

This is not a whinging post, I promise. The following two paragraphs is strictly for informational purposes and background and dramatic contrast.

So I have had an almost-entirely shit couple of weeks. Last week (the week before last? The one before the week that has just past but we are still in the weekend of...) I worked every night until between 3 and 5 am, and got up every morning trying to hold my edges together. This was sort of my fault for somehow underestimating the magnitude of the job that nearly killed me the same time last year, but that was not a comforting thought. Then this week we have been hosting our two-yearly intra-organisational conference, which has meant me spending most of my days in meetings starting at 8am, and running to try and squeeze important other stuff I was still supposed to be doing into breaks and evenings. I spent Monday and Tuesday evenings in the office until midnight, and by Wednesday I was ragged to the brink of tears.

I will admit that Wednesday and Thursday evenings were both quite lovely, involving actually being sociable, with other people and everything. Both evenings were entirely delightful, and I am not at all sorry I wasn't doing the sensible thing and sleeping. Last weekend also brought some points of light - specifically the arrival of a new computer in exchange for my old one and an obscene amount of money (things like cameras and computers seem to be madly expensive in Mexico). It is a bit shit, but it is marvellously, delightfully functional and I cannot tell you how wonderful it is to welcome the internet, music, and all kinds of computery goodness back into my life. On the other hand, it did mean that I spent Saturday installing software and phoning my Dad for advice and transferring data til I was screeny-eyed (still not finished) and not going to bed to get the sleep I really, really needed. On Sunday I spent the day in Mexico City hanging out with and catching up with a friend and ex-colleague on a flying visit, and buying myself small and lovely things and loving being in the (my) city and being ridiculously tired. And then on Monday my new bank card finally arrived (sent by my parents via fedex at horrifying expense, they being about the only people who will carry the blasted things). This is an immense relief; not having a bank card is a horribly naked and insecure feeling, knowing you wouldn't be able to get hold of money in an emergency. I kissed it. (Tongue in cheek. Mostly. Figuratively. Don't be disgusting.)

So there were some social loveliness and some awesome practical things making my life better, but I spent the vast majority of the last couple of weeks working and being exhausted and miserable and arrived at Friday hating everything and swearing even more than normal. Friday evening was an end-of-conference dinner (in a marquee) at which everyone got cold and hungry during the speeches and I got angry with my friends for spilling wine and giggling while everyone else was listening attentively. After the end of the speeches and fetching a shawl and getting the rest of the dinner I started defrosting (literally and figuratively) and we were among the last ones still there, chatting and drinking. I started feeling quite fond of my fellow beings.

At which point my officemate, Amazing Allison, dragged me off to her apartment for moral support while peeing, because she was afraid she had a bladder infection. And then on the way back she insisted on going over to the women's group house because there was pasta there and she was still hungry. And so I steeled myself for remonstrating with a drunk person, which I'm not very good at because I get bogged down in sober logic.

[More background may be required. I leave for China next Wednesday, and I won't be here for my birthday or Easter beach-trips. I am trying to be positive about this. I couldn't have a big party on Friday because of the dinner, and I'd been thinking about Saturday except that I wouldn't have been able to get everyone to come in the way that you can after work, and so I'd settled on a party when I get back.]

And so we went inside, and it was dark, and suddenly it wasn't and it was full of people shouting "Surprise!" and singing Happy Birthday and I was in the middle of it all, spinning round and smiling and feeling embarassed and smiling and smiling and smiling. And then I was hugging and kissing every single person there. And then I was running away to fetch my camera and put on my favourite top and drag a brush through my hair and have a little cry, because it was overwhelming to be made to feel so loved. Especially because a lot of the time I don't.

My friends had decorated with balloons and streamers. They had bought snacks and drinks, and even things for making piña coladas, knowing they are one of the few (ridiculously sweet, girly) things I drink. They had sent emails inviting people, and rounded up other people at the dinner, and lied and kept it secret. And they had all showed up, for me. I am very glad I have a friend who will pretend to have a bladder infection for me. I am very glad I did not get more pissy with the gigglers, and listened to my good side and unasked brought clean clothes for the one who spilt wine on herself even though I was cross with her. I am very glad I am absurdly obtuse and did not pick up on all the clues, which in retrospect were many. Because no-one has ever thrown me a surprise party before, and it made me happy fit to burst, and it was amazing.

It wasn't the same as the party I would've organised. Not everyone was there, like they would've been at a normal after-work Friday party. We didn't go out dancing afterwards. But, there will be more of those things to come. Almost all the important people were there, and it was happy and noisy and full of dancing and jokes and laughing and love... and I was surprised and delighted, instead of exhausted and stressed-out from organising, which made it pretty much perfect.

It was funny in some ways. I hardly remember talking to people, I was too busy bouncing around and grinning and hugging people and dancing and flitting about. I remember smiles and hugs and dancing, and not many words! There was a huge, beautiful piñata (apparently they had to bring it home held out of the taxi window). There was a delicious, absurdly creamy birthday cake, and I made my wish and blew out all the candles so hard I got candle wax on Amazing Allison's arm, and I rose to the jokingly-made challenge of making my self-imposed thank you speech in Spanish. There were balloon animals, made by my bar-tending, DJ-ing, ex-clown Favourite Peruvian, and a balloon penis. There was salsa and merengue and pop and reggae and a moshing accident that I'm fairly sure involved my head being sat on; fast dancing and drunken dancing and funny dancing and tender dancing.

I, um, may have kissed a boy. In the carpark, in the cold, under the stars. It wasn't entirely unprecedented nor entirely unexpected nor necessarily a good idea, but much better than just saying goodbye and goodnight (and also better than persuading him to stay) and it made me mostly-happy and I'm glad the evening almost-ended that way - especially with half my friends going home in couples!

[An aside on kisses: in Mexico everyone kisses hello and goodbye (once, to the left), and for thank you and congratulations. This has made me a much more kissy person, and I like this very much. I was thinking this when I was giving my friends thank-you-and-I-love-you kisses while we were tidying up. (I did an especially good job of tidying up the cake.) I would never have given spontaneous or comfortable friend-kisses before, but now I am a giver of kisses. I like kisses. Hurray!]

This morning I forced myself into the land of the living and onto a bus and found myself still breaking out into smiles in spite of feeling a bit like I'd been run over by a steamroller and went to the launch of amazing photographer Graciela Iturbide's new book. She has just won the 2008 Hassleblad Prize and I am rather pleased that I fell in love with her work before I knew she was at all important. The press scrum was rather disconcerting, but it was interesting and I listened and contemplated and dreamed in and out of the Spanish and had thoughts and ideas. And then I found Heaven... but I am too tired and this entry is too long...

Coming soon: the pearly gates, and where to find them. If you happen to be in Mexico City.