Monday, July 18, 2011

Saturday Night Lights

On Saturday night we went to a friend's birthday party. My friend, lets call her Lisa, is one of the very few friends I have made living in Arizona. We worked in the same mall, then she was promoted to a new location and I started freelancing. So our once or twice a month lunch dates dwindled off. We hung out as couples barely a handful of times, then I went through my getting-off-Cymbalta drama and she had a baby and our friendship just kinda went dormant. Of course Miss Prednisone over here picked up communication with her after the strokes, and we have been hit or miss ever since. My attendance record at actually keeping our dates extremely sporadic. So when she text me a few weeks ago about her birthday this last Saturday night I accepted, really really wanting to have a social life again!  But after staying up till 3am Friday night and running errands all day Saturday, the last thing I wanted to do at 10pm was get it together and go to a bass-booty-bumpin' nightclub. But I did and even wore heels! So off we went, being so old and out of touch we were there before they even started charging a cover. 

Lisa looks great, very happy, lots of friends around. And she is really thrilled we came. And I am glad we did too, for she is a good friend that for some reason still wants to be friends with a flaky Fibrate. Why? Who knows. The DJ is really good, but so flippin' loud you can't hear anyone unless their mouth is shouting 1" from your ear. And there is a crazy light show pulsing to the bounce of each beat. You can't really talk so we sit and slowly watch the dance floor fill up. The eye candy, oh, it was delicious! But after a while the whole sensory-overload starts piercing my brain, causing fried-out parts of my cerebral cortex to thump awake. I started to worry about having another stroke. Not like there was any correlation, but if I felt concerned it was SO not worth the risk. I tell my husband I need to go, the music is too loud and the lights too intense. Ever attentive and concerned, he had us up and out of there faster than the words were out of my mouth. We depart to see a long line waiting to get in. I really wondered if I looked old? Kinda old or really old, as I recalled the clubbing days of my early 20's, thanking the good Lord in heaven those days are far behind me. 

My husband had 2 drinks, I had none, so I drive home. We get into the car. My brain is on such sensory overload and the streets are wild with people and cars everywhere. So what does my husband do???? Turns on the radio, says "Oh wow, this is the song they were just playing in there!" and pumps up the volume! I break in the middle of the road. I did not mean to but my brain stopped functioning. He starts screaming at me to drive and I barely realize what is going on until I slam the off button on the stereo and can finally determine there are no cars in front of me and the light is green. Thank God there were no cars behind me, either. So I get ragingly pissed off at him, feeling like I am dealing with an inconsiderate and selfish 12 year old. I could not believe how blatantly insane it was that he did that, put me right back in an environment that he had just so gallantly escorted me out of because of sensory overload. He thinks there is no inevitable or obvious connection here. I get all bent out of shape and bitchy and uptight on the uneventful continuation of our ride home. But we have been committed to really communicating and growing our relationship, not settling into the mid-marriage bitterness that can swallow the entire union whole. So we talk it out, get home, put our pajamas on and sink gratefully into the sofa, snuggling in the quiet calm comfort of home.

Thanks for joining,

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