When I woke up this birthday morn’, I had no expectations. In fact, I spent the better part of it walking around the apartment in my underpants.
I drank over half a cup of coffee while talking my Aunt down from her rage over the fact that my Mother now only uses Skype to communicate for long distance phone calls.
Neia sneezed little cat droplets onto my arm. Her way of reminding me to call the vet.
Later, I purchased a discounted Southwest Airlines ticket.
Anxiety peaked around 4 PM. I still hadn’t pulled a prototypically cute birthday outfit to wear from the clean laundry pile – still occupying the entryway of my bedroom.
I resigned myself to being late for my 6:30 dinner: torn between asking for more time, two hours in advance (as a thoughtful friend), or waiting until it was too late to avoid being late (a victim of life’s challenges).
After-dinner spirits faded to the beats of dubstep.
I joined a crowd in front of a stage stitched with speaker cable and chrome. In between heavy breaths, they saluted the intensity. Strobe lights sliced through our steam. Episodic bursts of tetra, fuchsia, effluvia.
LED Tetris cubes danced. So did the girls. So did the boys.