And So I Survived
We just returned from a night out a neighbors. The first official ‘Friday Nite Happy Hour’ of the season.
I knew they would be there. In the half hour before we were to arrive, as I prepared some overdone, intricately arranged friggin’ cheese tray I was having conversations with the voices in my head. And becoming ever more aggravated with every schizophrenic syllable.
I yelled at the kids for nothing. I knew I was freaking out. My otherwise friendly and utterly lovely neighbor’s would not be a safe place. Because I knew they would be there. As I madly sliced the Gouda. The Asiago. The Jalapeno Havarti. The extra creamy Blue. The Oka.
So engrossed was I in the dialogue in my mind that a meticulously prepared, delicious plate of a delicious variety of cheeses made their way onto a plate as though by Siegfried and Roy, themselves. Perhaps Penn and Teller. And maybe even Doug Henning. In keeping with the crazy voices in my mind.
I didn’t want to see them.
So I am emotionally immature. So, as my 40th bears down rapidly approaches, I’m still not quite able to overcome challenging interpersonal conflicts and take the high road. So, I’m a grown, relatively accomplished wife, mother… woman, and would rather just hide in my house and surf the ‘net, than go and face them. In the company of my real friends.
And so…
It went fine. I held their new baby. For a long time. They have great babies. I have screaming babies. How does that happen?
But, for now, I’m still happier not seeing them.
