I was told there'd be a slip' n slide.
Let me back up. Couple of things:
1. I'm glitching. If you've followed the blog for very long, you know I was glitching way before this last year of crises and losses. Now? Oooof. I'm trying to address this.
2. I don't get out much. I’ve spent the last few decades under a carefully positioned and highly guarded rock. I'm trying to address this.
3. I'm an inside kitty. An introvert to the core. Some would argue this, and I would argue back that, on occasion, I can "bring it" or "show up" or "do what the situation requires," but my nervous system pays a hefty fine, requiring prolonged solitude to recharge. This is not addressable. It's woven into the DNA.
So when someone invites me to places with groups or crowds or masses, my visceral response is a hard pass because I don't get out much. Because I'm an introvert. And because I glitch, I could possibly ruin someone else's good time.
Under my rock, I rarely, if ever, ruin my cats' good time, seeing as how they can sleep through my glitches and prefer that I don't leave the house.
However, I accidentally on purpose said yes to a friend's offer to go to a real live outdoor concert where there would most likely be groups or crowds or masses.
Because I’m trying to address the things.
On a positive note, there've been other glitches leading to whims that have gone rather well. I've taken to journaling in the nice notebooks that were deemed at one point too nice to write in (grab one's chest and gasp, right?). Theater also comes to mind. Likewise, corned beef hash (who knew this stuff existed?).
And I am working on getting out from under that rock.
After saying yes to the concert (and overthinking the overthinking about saying yes to the concert), I decided that perhaps this glitch may lead to a whim that works out.
I try to tell myself that I've been to other concerts, but my overthinking part tells me, "Not a concert like this one."
When I was a kid, I saw the Oak Ridge Boys and John Denver. The Satler Brothers at the state fair, I think, but I wasn't old enough to pick out my own clothes at that point, and if your grandma is there clutching her pocketbook, does it count as a concert?
I've been to small venues with conservative vibes and a less unpredictable mash-up of people in the crowd. I don't think these count as the same thing, even though I needed a week of recovery after.
I looked up the venue for this shindig.
24,790. That's the capacity of the venue.
I stopped researching the venue and calculated the recovery time needed after encountering 24,789 people.
My friend, equally adept and possibly more skilled at overthinking, overthought how I might react in this setting and started peppering in comments like, "They're still trying to give out tickets; it's nowhere near sold out.” "We’ll get there early and scope out our territory on the lawn and stay away from the people.” “It’s soft yacht rock music; this crowd will be mellow.”
Then the kicker: “If it rains, there could be a slip ‘n slide.”
“No way!” From glitchy overthinking introvert trying to have a life brain to writer brain in 1.8 seconds. Little Miss Muse even joined the conversation.
There was talk of smuggling in shower curtains and dish soap. Or baby shampoo to avoid the stinging eyeball thing. Food coloring to make the bubbles pretty…
But we behaved.
No smuggling.
We arrived. Parked. It was sprinkling ever so lightly from one solitary rain cloud, so I was hopeful...
Got through security (almost) without incident. Bumped into cousins. I was so looking around for people dragging in shower curtains, that I was startled to see someone I knew.
My friend turned into Tour Guide Master and led the way through the venue up to the lawn. She unfurled a big blanket to mark our spot, and we picked up the rented lawn chairs. Lawn Chair Guy offered us an upgrade, which we declined, as it would mean sitting where the people are.
He seemed baffled by the refusal, so he must’ve been an extrovert.
As we settled in with snacks at the ready, my head was on a swivel searching for someone, anyone, who might unfurl a slip ‘n slide.
Then I zoned in on the demographics of the crowd.
Several grandmothers made their way up the steep lawn. With pocketbooks. Not plastic tarps or bottles of dyed dish soap for hillside fun. I hoped their shoes had good tread and their companions were alert, should the need arise to keep their respective grandmas from rolling into the mosh pit.
I kicked off my sandals and realized that I’ve got a traction problem myself. No slip ‘n slide needed.
The blanket was so soft and the hill was so steep that I couldn’t get my footing. I was mouthing off about grandmas, but quickly discovered I could go toppling end over end and land on top of one of those gals.
And the lawn chairs… One second I’m enjoying the evening, the bands (they were quite good), and the friendly banter, and the next? I’m halfway out of my seat and can't get traction on the blanket to slide back up. Repeatedly.
You’d think those things would be easy. Sitting. Standing.
But you gotta have traction when you’re dealing with steep, grassy-covered angles.
You’d think, for a writer, putting words down would be easy, like sitting or standing. But in this season of deep grief-covered angles, I’ve lost my traction. I’ll get planted, then boom! I slip ‘n slide all over the calendar and, well.
I’m trying to address this.
It will likely require chunks of prolonged solitude with a cat and a blanket, and occasionally, leaving my carefully positioned and highly guarded rock to do new things with overthinking friends… with snacks at the ready.
