Recently I received a Facebook message from a friend telling me she was getting a divorce. This is a person I’ve known since Junior High and although we’ll comment on each other’s statuses here and there, we haven’t actually talked in many, many years.
But this is one of the unexpected results I’ve experienced from working on this blog. Because I write the way I do, people feel comfortable reaching out and telling me their stories.
It’s pretty cool.
“Will you at least be nice?”
“Tracey. I am being nice.”
“Paul!” I said in exasperation. “You’re acting like you don’t like him!”
“Oh, he’ll KNOW if I don’t like him,” he replied and took a sip of his drink, looking over my shoulder to see if there was anyone less annoying to talk to.
“Jesus,” I sighed.
All around us our friends were drinking and catching up in the patio area of a bar located on the outskirts of our town. The venue had been moved by majority demand and now instead of the small intimate gathering I’d planned, we’d ended up in an expansive space with a band, dancing and a huge outdoor courtyard with heaters and picnic tables. I didn’t mind the change though, because now I felt I didn’t have to be in hostess mode and besides, we’d had a really great turn out so the larger setting actually made sense. Everyone was hugging each other and laughing and taking pictures and screaming, “Oh my god! I didn’t know you’d be here! What the hell have you been up to?!” The Seventh Annual Hometown Holiday Drinks was turning out to be quite a success.
If I do say so myself.
“We’re going to sort this out right now,” I said and grabbed Paul’s arm. I began to lead him to one of the tables.
“Fine,” he acquiesced. “But you might not like what I have to say.”
“Whatever,” I grumbled.
Ugh. I wasn’t sure how much more of this I could take.
“I AM FREAKING THE FUCK OUT!”
“I know, baby,” My Boyfriend said as he reached over from the driver’s seat and squeezed my knee. “But it’s okay. You’re okay.”
“I feel sketchy!” I cried, as I doubled over and attempted to take in huge gulps of air.
“You’re okay. Just lay the seat back and try to relax.”
It was the last day of my Christmas visit and we were on the way to SFO from our hometown to drop me off for my flight back to NYC. As we’ve all seen, I am not a good flyer under the best of circumstances but today with the added exhaustion, anxiety and nausea, I was not doing well. At all. I sat up and shielded my eyes as I looked out the window. Sausalito whizzed by, illuminated by the too-bright morning sunlight.
I laid the seat back and closed my eyes tightly. Then I whimpered, “I don’t understand why this is happening.”
“Well, we went big on Friday at Hometown Holiday Drinks,” My Boyfriend was saying. “And then yesterday at Lana’s brunch, you girls were hitting the champagne pretty hard.”
“I know, but I drank plenty of water last night and we went to bed early,” I said. “I should be okay.”
“Well, we haven’t had a lot of downtime overall,” he pointed out.
I opened my eyes and sniveled, “I kind of over-scheduled us, didn’t I?”
He smiled and reached to the backseat. “Here. Take my jacket and use it as a pillow. Try to get some rest.”
I took the jacket and folded it beneath my head. “I don’t feel well.” I looked up at him.
He looked down at me in pity. “Baby, if you’re not feeling better by the time we hit the bridge, I think we should change your flight to tomorrow.”
“But we’re trying to save money for visits!” I insisted.
“I know. But it’s only money. And it’s breaking my heart to see you like this.”
“I think I’m going to throw up,” I muttered.
“I think you’ve hit the wall,” he said.
“I think you’re right,” I replied.
Then I turned over and pulled the jacket over my head.
Not Quite A Cougar 