Nights out are like pasta

Good afternoon! I’m blogging from under the covers on this blustery December day, while eating a bagel from my favorite bagel place. So I made my trek from NYC back to my place around 2 hours ago. The city is more bustling and overwhelming for me than I would like it to be, but I was happy to push myself to go in to see my friends. We went to this yummy Mexican restaraunt known for its queso. Coincidentally, this restaraunt is literally right next door to a restaurant that him and I went to and had planned to go again…but obviously didn’t. Coming into the city alone and staying over with friends was a big step for me. One of my friends told me she doesn’t remember the last time she spent time with me without him. He had become such an important part of me and my life. It feels unnatural to have to shake this part of me off now. It felt good for me to be “back”, but I had felt bad and really unprepared at the same time. After dinner, we went to The Stand, a comedy club where we saw some stand up acts. This was an overall fun time with lots of political inappropriateness, overall grossness, silliness, and laughs. I had a glass of wine (again big thing for me to do now)  and was tired by the end of the show. I couldn’t get over how cold it was last night. I just wanted  warmth and my bed. But because I was in a gaggle of nondepressed single 20-somethings (other than myself of course), the night was just beginning. I also wanted to push myself to stay out later. So I did.

This is where the pasta metaphor comes in. I feel that the night piqued while at the comedy club and I was ready to head back home. It was perfect and I’d leave my night at a high if I had left then. The pasta was “perfectly cooked then and ready to be removed from the stove”.

But we went to a bar or 2, I didn’t drink and didn’t feel like socializing. This is OK, but I didn’t even want to put in a “fake” effort with people. I literally didn’t care. Usually by this time of the night, him and I were on our way home in an Uber like an old married couple. I do make conversation for a living as a therapist, but I didn’t care about these people other than my friends, was tired, and didn’t want to socialize in general honestly…and especially with men. I didn’t even want to be around them at this point. I was cranky. This pasta was overcooked. I felt like a wet noodle (pun intended).  We eventually went back to my friends’ apartment, hung out and slept. This morning I started feeling sad and depressed on my trainride back home, asking myself some serious questions and making disparaging remarks to myself. I was tired, cold, and needed the comfort of my bed, warm home, and shower. I gave myself those things and have been feeling better since. I’m feeling sleepy and may head down for a nap. I normally work a full-time job, but I had to take my vacation days off or I’d lose them by the end of the year. Guess it is a good time to rest and restore! Goodnight. Might write later.

The highlights of my evening last night, Javelina and The Stand:




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