The last few weeks have been scary. It's kind of like when you're in high school and you know that homecoming is coming up and you really want to go, but you were asked to homecoming once before and the guy that you went with either stood you up or spent the whole night dancing with another girl and you think to yourself, 'Jeez, I thought homecoming was going to be awesome. I guess it's just like that in the movies.' So when homecoming rolls back around you think you want to go and you want to get excited but you've been scarred by the bad experience.
In the spirit of beating a metaphor into the ground until it dies, let's just say that I was invited to homecoming again a few weeks ago. My invitation looked like this:
I was so excited about it until I started remembering how bad the last time was, and how I got all dressed up and ready but in the end it wasn't meant to be. Then things started happening, bad things that got me thinking that I was never going to go to homecoming, never. So today I went to my doctor to make sure the invitation was still on and that I wasn't going to get blown off this time. I laid on the table, held hands with L, and prayed the quick, unintelligible prayers of the brokenhearted.
Then... flicker flicker. Beep beep. Strobe lights and punch. There's dancing in there. Life. With any luck, we'll be dancing until Thanksgiving. Right now, a woman in her thirties is just grateful for the beat.