In a lot of ways, people surprise me. This could be good or bad, up to their compassion to their downright cruel honesty, to themselves or others. So maybe the Duck in my head thought it was getting old I wasn’t getting – being – a surprise myself.
*If you’re hoping for some life-actually-mattering-epiphany, get out of here. I got nothing in store but some crabby story of a girl growing into her wits.
The past Friday night and Saturday day, I spent mopping around, reading sappy old romance books and nursing bad cramps. I could have given less for the world, didn’t even spring up to finally get out of bed until the agent and visitors I had completely forgotten about came to the house and I ran into the shower. Capping off two nights of waking up in the middle of the night on the couch to shower at 2 am and sleep at 5:30 am. That is also a huge factor as to why I have not been snooping on your posts lately. Self-indulgent-pity does that to people sometimes.
Not a great surprise there. Except that I almost broke out into whining tears when my mother wanted me to say a greeting for her boyfriend again for the 3rd time over the phone. It was a low point, truly.
Thank god for Midol.
So when I had woken up on Sunday morning, my room glazed over with the blue tinted light of a cloudy day, opening up from a stormy night, I didn’t even know what to think of the fact that I was expected at my friend’s house in a few hours to get ready for our grad boat cruise. All I could wonder at was that, whilst trying to fall asleep at 6 am only a few hours earlier, I had the terrible sensation of an arrogant car repeatedly and stupidly zooming past too close, making me wince and wake up from semi-sleep every so often. All the while I was only in bed, struggling to keep my cat in an embrace. My friend and I later concurred that I was in fact a superhero growing into her formidable powers. Peter Parker had some messed up sensory system too right?
Skip past the entire part where my friends and I were priming ourselves up. No need to brag too loudly of my infamousy with falsies. It was too much of a slap in the face that the one friend who never puts on make up managed everything the quickest.
When we aboard our bus to the boat, I even forgot my ticket, making myself more wildly palpitated – I had the greatest fear of my bowels giving out on me – That feeling while waiting in line for a huge roller coaster, and though you’ll love it afterwards, it doesn’t stop your stomach from grumbling much too suspiciously. I hoped it wasn’t too big of a problem, I hadn’t eaten much but a succession of Ferraro Roche’s for breakfast, speedy as I was getting out of bed that morning. Huffah.
After aboarding the cruise, and the initial frenzy to take pictures with everyone there, I sat down with my friends to our respective plates of buffet food. I couldn’t even eat. My friend ‘deared-poored-me’ and said I had social anxiety. Did I? I found that difficult to believe, even being me and feeling how I felt, as I tried to explain to my friend, who was probably out of politeness, listening to me before she called dibs on devouring my food. If not for the flitting eyes, I looked the most at ease. My bowels said so otherwise.
When crowds finally began to form on the dance floor, I looked at them and felt the dread of every other social event I had tried to fit myself into, since grade 7, trying to be cool at a youth dance and feeling all the world of a grown up grinding some stranger. My god the mass of them. But I had my friends, and we formed our own little circle, we butchered our way into the crowd, and there I was, I was dancing, and I was having a great time even if I didn’t know half the songs they played, and would probably never raise an eye to a good half of the people there when we go back to school.
We danced for a good few hours. I am surprised. Even more so when some classmates told me I was good at it. Flattered as I was, I felt rather dreadful raising my head to acknowledge their compliments since my friends being my friends and all, they did not neglect to tell me I looked like absolute shit crying tears of sweat across my face with hair plastered all around me. Thanks for that. Plus, that crowd cheering on the two Bases kids in the center to dance their heart out – well, maybe they weren’t such intimidating people.
But really, thanks for the night. Though hell if I’m not rolling back to school as a bookworm/cat lady on Tuesday. Some things don’t change.