Another Saturday Night

 Frequently, I have no one to go with me to the movies or to listen to music, or whatever. Sometimes that’s a so what, but other times it’s a complete stopper.

Last night Q, a night club in my town had the blues, the blues! The blues right up there with jazz!!

You have no idea how pissed I am at myself for being such a candy ass little bitch.

Brenda Hopkins’ Jazz Band, one of my very favorites on the island, was performing the blues.

Have you ever watched yourself sabotage you? You really want to do something, but can’t workup any enthusiasm.

Any time spent listening to live music, vibrating with the band, the sound synching us with the musicians’ virtuosity, can’t be beat. Smile.

I wanted to go to that concert and didn’t.

About three o’clock that afternoon, I took a shower, washed, and set my hair. You could say that the event was eagerly anticipated; I haven’t heard live blues since New Orleans last spring. I popped a movie into the computer. During the opening credits I shuddered with a feeling of dread.

What the hell is the difference between going into a bar alone or with another woman? I can go into all types of places with a companion. If she’s stupid enough to go in there, I’m certainly stupid enough to give it a try.

I knew from that moment of dread that it wasn’t going to happen.

Senior years bring self imposed limitations because as a New Orleans blues man said, “I’m a victim of comfort.”

An agitated feeling irked me. My fingertips got wet; my hands shook. The conflict, the thought that I would let fear or laziness prevent me from doing something I dearly want to do flipped my switch.

Last night with the strength from a good bit of healing, I grit my teeth, and vowed I would get out of the house to hear the blues.

I ate dinner during the movie commentary, which made me drowsy. I must have dozed, but in my zeal to get out I left early, a very early seven thirty.

I drove through Quebradillas, which had a fiesta in the public plaza. Parking looked grim already. I went to a party in the plaza in Hatillo on Friday night, so decided to deal with parking after going to the store in Isabela. Coffee and movies beckoned.

Walking around the store warmed up my back, which felt ok, but I couldn’t focus on shopping after finding The Tudors, the complete series. For a Saturday night the line was short, by quarter to nine I’m back in Quebradillas where the police have pulsating blue lights blinding me in terminally stalled traffic, and no blues until after ten.

To get to Q I’d have to go all the way around the plaza and suddenly I felt so tired. Tired like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. All I wanted to do was get away from there.

The pulsing blue lights destroyed my resolve. It felt as if I couldn’t go. Intuition or a panic attack; who the hell knows?