When The Party Is Over
I'm here to hang up my party hat. The last 12 years or so have been filled with loud places. I've been in and out of bars and parties trying to find something. Happiness...I guess. I'm not saying I don't genuinely enjoy partying. Eyes closed, head back dancing is the only time I feel completely free of burden. But, at the same time, strolling through bars in hopes of something to fill up emptiness or some sort of high just isn't fun anymore.
I decided to test the waters last weekend. I went to a BBQ of a friend that I briefly worked with...who makes excellent jerk chicken. The food was delicious. The conversation was fun. But...but. I decided to do all of the things. A bottle of wine, several mixed drinks, too many cigarettes, etc, and the room was spinning. One of my friends said that I just did too many things, but in actuality, that used to be just a typical weekend night. Not. any. more.
Around 2 am or so, the decision was made to move the party to a bar. As too many people loaded into not enough cab space, I knew this wasn't going to end well. I tried to hold my head up as I felt sweat beading around my forehead. Around my nose. Dripping down my ears. Everywhere. I am not normally a big sweater. I rolled down the window and hung my head out to the wind like an excited dog. Unlike a puppy on a car ride, I was just trying to stay conscious.
We arrived at the bar and I stumbled into the diner next door completely unable to imagine dancing at that moment. I thought, as I sat on the toilet vomiting into a trashcan, this isn't fun. This isn't fun anymore. Was this ever fun? I threw up for hours. At the diner. On the floor. In the cab. Couldn't open the door. Like a damn, gut-wrentching Dr. Seuss book.
I'm in a different head space now. I still love disco beats and city streets. I still love the glimmer of hope of locking eyes with someone across a dance floor and having a night that seems like fiction writing itself, exciting, spontaneous, and new. I hope to continue to have those moments. But, I won't continue to crave those nights because I'm not enough on my own.
There used to be a very large part of me that craved doing the opposite of what I'm supposed to do. I used to fight through these moments on bathroom floors. Even when it wasn't that bad, I used to relish moments of hazy indifference with all actions left to circumstance. Now, I deserve more than leaving my life to ambivalent chance. I owe my body and myself more than that now.
I guess my only question now is: what the hell else do people do on the weekends?
Header photo courtesy of Chris Gilmore
