Mr. Wonderful and I flew to Denver yesterday to see the Foo Fighters. Because we are insane.
It was one of the concerts rescheduled from the unfortunate incident that caused me to temporarily break up with My Boyfriend Dave Grohl. Mr. Wonderful and I had tickets to see the band not one, but two nights at Red Rocks. We got there to find plentiful parking and no band. My Boyfriend Dave Grohl was sick and they postponed the shows.
So, Mr. Wonderful and I flew out yesterday, toured some fine breweries and sampled their fine wares, then went to Target.
Yes, we went to Target to buy hats and gloves and extra layers of clothing. It’s the beginning of September and it was 48 degrees in Denver. I wore a stocking cap to the concert. And not because I’m a skater dude.
The show was great. The parking was not. We finally got out of the parking lot around 1 a.m. Then, we drove to the luxurious Sleep Inn near the airport.
Yes, I imagine that’s where the band was staying as well.
When we got there, no one was manning the front desk. Finally, a guy comes out buttoning his shirt. Had he been freshening up? Getting a little something something in the back office? I can’t say.
However, when Mr. Wonderful questioned the room rate and seriously asked me if we should just sleep in the car, I evidently had something to say. I don’t remember quite what it was, but it was enough to get him to sign for the room without further ado, and it made the desk clerk attempt not to laugh.
I evidently have a way with words.
We slept for three whole hours before trekking to the airport for our 6:30 flight. I slept the entire flight, and while Mr. Wonderful actually went to work for the day, I slept for a few hours when I got home, too.
I feel like crap.
I woke up feeling sad. Yes, I was sad because it was 1 p.m. and I was finally facing the day. But I was also sad that I didn’t just mindlessly bounce back from something that was supposed to be lots of fun. Mostly, I was sad because this fun little excursion seems like an island in a vast, choppy sea of figuring shit out.
I have the rest of the afternoon off, and I think I might celebrate by working the yard a little. And going to the library. And trying to figure out what the fuck I’m doing in general.