Back in the Saddle

A few doses into the game, I am feeling way better. Not zippy by any means, but better.

I haul myself to work the next day, hoping to be able to spend a decent amount of time catching up and moving on.  I will not flog myself if I tank at 2 pm.  Hopefully none of my uptight colleagues will either.

As luck would have it, it is a day of full on mayhem.  A blood and guts warfare kind of day.  The big guns are drawn, the piles of follow up on my desk get higher and deeper.

It is nearly 6 when I schlepp to my car.

I get a text from Sandy, J's first marital victim.

"Are we still on for Friday?" and then assuming that the answer is yes, "Where should we meet?"

I hate not to answer right away and make her sweat it out, but I only peaked at my phone while sitting at the 3 miute light near my building. The one that gets my blood boiling at least three nights a week, especially when a rescue vehicle comes at the last minute, changes the game and the three minute egg timer gets turned on its head for another round of "Let's see who gets caught in the drive-by shooting tonight."

I drive home thinking about places central to us both. I had thought to suggest that I meet her at her house, and have a chance to give at least one of the girls a much overdue squeeze before we leave, but think better of that.

There would be a need to sit and chat with Moira or Abby - and then Sandy would surely suggest a cocktail while we talk. And that could concievably turn to two. And then we might never leave. And then if the evening turned out to be more uncomfortable than anticipated, it would just be weird to be in her house.

I think the medication has warped the quadrant of the brain responsible for social graces. This is truly a bitchy, non-commitmal way to think. 

Nonetheless, I suggest a location just about the same distance from both of our houses. It is a quaint little town with lots of places to go...whether her proclivities lean more toward wine bars and eclectic menus or brew pubs with dart boards and big screen TVs.

I make a suggestion that we meet at the same place where I'd met the girls just before I fell into the grips of The Plague.

She asks where exactly it is. I tell her exactly how to find it.

She asks about the dress code. Admits she's been out of circulation for far too long.

I tell her what I intend to wear. I refrain from suggesting that she go shopping for something post Y2K.

And then, in case she needs to ask...I tell her she will recognize my full throttle red winter coat. She could pick me out of a crowd in Calcutta.

She signs off with me as I log into Facebook to check the social scene.  She tells me she is looking forward to getting to knowthe woman who made a better decision about J. than she did.

She has no idea how badly my next decisions have turned out, but I have to agree, I am, oddly, really looking forward to spending a few hours sorting out the facts and myths about Sandy for myself and perhaps making a new friend.