Happy Christmas

Socializing while in pain: it's about as successful as trying to mix oil and water. Last night, I bravely attempted to mix the two by venturing out to my first (and only) Christmas party of the year. I sat on the couch the whole time and certainly wasn't the life of the party, but I was proud, nonetheless, to have made it out of my house and to a "real" party for the first time since I got sick.

I felt very surreal sitting there on that velvety, blue couch. It reminded me of the first time I flew in an airplane. I remember feeling rather insignificant, floating above the tiny world. As I sat on the couch at the party, I felt as though I was floating above a different sort of world. I felt like a spectator as I watched the people carelessly milling about, talking and laughing and having a jolly ole time. I studied the people, looking for tiny signs of hidden illnesses and wondering if any of them were worrying about things like breaking their diet, taking medicine, and escalating pain levels.

I didn't attempt to strike up any conversations with anyone who didn't venture over to my couch, and I did notice a few people staring, wondering perhaps why the girl with the funny hat wasn't moving off of the couch or socializing much. As my mom would likely tell me, nobody probably noticed but me. Maybe they did; maybe they didn't. It really didn't matter to me though. I didn't go to be a dazzling conversationalist. I didn't go to drink and be merry, either. I went to see my dear friends and celebrate the holiday and the joy of life and, of course, to be entertained by those who overindulged in the eggnog. I achieved my peace and merriment from comforts of the couch. Happy Christmas to everybody, especially my Lyme friends on the couch this holiday.