32 Going on 80

My New Year's resolution this year, or one of them anyway, was to get out of my comfort zone. Not in a yogic way, but in a social way. I tend to be a loner. The company I enjoy most is that of a fellow yogini, or Georgia. The bulldog. When an acquaintance asked me to go out last night, my knee-jerk reaction was, quite simply, "no thanks." But for the sake of holding true to one's vows . . . I spent a couple of hours mentally preparing myself for "a pub." Funny thing is, the place I'm most uncomfortable today (a bar), was my second home until 2 years ago. But that's another post.

She drank beer. I had perrier. Topics of conversation included 3things: Men. Past, present, and future. The past, what were my exes like; the present, leering bald man in the corner; and the future, who do I see myself with going forward. My immediate response? Georgia. Unwaveringly loyal and reliable. No games. I never question how she feels about me. Simple. What's that saying about the simple things in life?

The highlight of the evening was an invitation to dance to Love Shack. My decline provoked a surprising "Geez, you've gotta lighten up for a 32 year old." At just about that time I was overcome with an intense nausea that started as a ravenous heat moving from my toes and up into my stomach, rumbling there for a moment before rising to flush my face. It was time to go.

True. I'm an old soul I suppose.  I could get drunk and lighten up (I don't foresee doing the Love Shack jig under any other circumstances), or I could be who I am and lighten-in.

En[in]-lighten?  Interesting.

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