One of my boyfriend’s favorite bands is in town for two nights this week. Many months ago–back when I could sometimes stay up until 9pm–he bought a set of pit tickets…for both nights. Now, he’s in a bit of a pickle.
Should he sell the two sets of tickets and pocket the $600? Should he go have some fun and leave me at home to get some much-needed rest? Should I push through it and pray that I can remain standing for an entire night (five hours past my usual bedtime)? Should I attempt this (gasp) two nights in a row? Or should I go and stick it out for as long as I can manage, and then shamelessly hit the floor and use the hubby’s shoe as a pillow when my body starts to fail me?
I feel like I’ve missed out on so much over the last several months and I’m admittedly going a bit stir-crazy, so that last option sounds absolutely delicious! Oh, to get out of the house and be around real-life people. Whoa!
Side effects of my medication include hyper-sensitivity to light and sound, so I am legitimately worried that I may end up in the fetal position as my eardrums and retinas are blasted out of my body. But, oh, how glorious those minutes leading up to the excruciating pain could be! I would give anything to attend a big event, with hustling bodies and anticipation. Anything.
I have a feeling that my boyfriend will look at my sunken eyes and insist that I stay home to rest. And I suspect that, seeing my disappointment, he’ll forgo the concert to stay home and snuggle with me until I fall asleep. “You’re more important to me,” he’ll insist, with a smile.
I secretly hope that, by some miracle, next week I start discovering those rumored “good days” that my doctor has been talking about, so that I can at least show up, even if I end up napping in the middle of the mosh pit.