(Picture from the concert, looking back at the masses of people...)
So I’m sitting at the departure gate, and a little boy in front of me—8 maybe? (I’m crap at judging ages)—spills a cup of water all over himself. I missed the actual spillage, just looked up to see the cup upside down on the ground and a rather morose expression on his face. Now, I have this thing about wasting unused napkins, and you never know when you’re going to need a napkin—like when you forget to pick up a couple when you buy your food and now you’ve got mayo on your face, or, like now, when you manage to fling your drink onto yourself. So I hauled out a handful and gave them to his dad. A moment later I heard the kid giggling with pure delight as his dad blotted his shirt from the inside (maybe it tickled?).
Then, as I was in line to board the plane, they called my name. Turns out I’d dropped my driver’s license. I boarded with a quiet sense of See, that’s how it’s supposed to work.
Same kind of thing at the show yesterday. There was a teenage girl in a wheelchair, a big Styx fan, and it was the first time she was seeing them. There was space next to me, so her dad maneuvered her in there, and I helped block random drunken idiots. The drummer for Eddie Money made a point of giving a drumstick to a security guard to hand to her, which I thought was awesome. I basically used my “You guys love me” fu to get her stuff from the band: First Lawrence’s water bottle (which he apparently wanted me to pour on myself; guess I looked sweaty. Or he has a shower fetish. Let’s go with the latter.) and then a Polaroid (making it clear it was for her), then a pick from Ricky. Made me happy. Well, happier, because being at a Styx show is just shy of pure nirvana for me.
And quite frankly, I need all of this. September was an unequivocally craptastic month on every front. I wrote an entry about it but I think I’m not going to post it. Release and move on. I may end up talking about pieces here and there, as I try to work through some of it. (Like the conviction that I’m somehow a bad friend, because for the second, or possibly third, time this year we’ve not been invited to a party hosted by people I thought were pretty good friends.)
~ ~ ~So I was waiting in LAX to fly to PHX two days ago, and I checked my daily Tarot reading via the iTarot app on my phone, and it said “The jig will be coming up.” How beautifully apropos!
~ ~ ~Why do I only drink orange juice when I’m on a plane?
~ ~ ~Now Animotion’s “Obsession” is stuck in my head. Why? REO’s “Don’t Let Him Go” was far preferable. (Although you can’t really be annoyed by lyrics like “My fantasy has turned to madness/And now my goodness has turned to badness.”)
~ ~ ~So, I have one day at home (plus this evening) before we leave for Great Western War on Wednesday. Of course we haven’t even begun to pack, which is a stressor right now. (One of our three meals is cooked and frozen, and Ken was in charge of the second while I was gone, so that’s something.) Still, I’m looking forward to it. A friend is getting his Pelican (highest-level award for service, and he deserves it in spades) and there will be friends to see and hug and laugh with. On a more somber note, there’ll be a memorial for an amazing, incredible woman who died last week. She touched the lives of everyone, and she was taken far too young, and I’m struggling with feeling angry at the universe for it.
We have to come home halfway through the war (which is about two and a half hours away) to give the cats subcutaneous fluids (and I’m also going to have a chiro appt), but I’m grateful that Eostre no longer needs twice-daily subcu fluids.
~ ~ ~Starting our descent into LAX. Must go!