Monday, April 07, 2008
My longest post.
I told my friend I just didn't want to go. No excuses or reasons given other than I simply wasn't interested. I was trying to appear aloof and cool, maybe a little bold. I'm pretty sure none of this came across. Anyway the truth was I was afraid. Afraid like when the new kid walks into a classroom for the first time, completely alone, presented to sixty big little kid eyes sizing him up. I was afraid my friend would ditch me once we got there for her real, better friends and I'd be stuck for three hours in a room filled with women I didn't know. I'd be forced to make small talk until my head started hurting and I'd have no choice but to lock myself in a bathroom stall to catch my breath and pee and stare at the stall door and try to wish myself back home. Snuggled up next to John on our comfy couch. But all the wishing and concentrating and willing my body to teleport would only make my head hurt more and I'd have to pull it together and leave my floral scented sanctuary and go back out there and try and find my friend or another familiar face so I could sit by them so I wouldn't look so pathetically friendless. I'm not really sure if this would all happen or not. But pretty sure. The strange thing about it all is that I really wanted to go. I wanted a night out. I wanted to be with my friend. I wanted to drive home with that "man, I'm glad I went" feeling. And at 8 o'clock while I was struggling to get the kids into bed I felt disappointed in myself for being afraid of something that hadn't even happened yet. And I shoved that feeling down and told myself that I couldn't change anything now so just enjoy your evening with John and I did. But next time I'll go.