snakes

Power sluts, fame sluts, money sluts: people who don't have it, so they f* people who do. I should be relaxed and content after my trip to Charleston, but I'm on edge instead. In truth, the edginess began on Saturday, when I was traveling and got lost not once, but twice, enroute to Charleston. If I had someone with me, they could have looked at the map and kept me on track... but I was traveling solo because of a slut. No way to look at a map and drive 80 mph, so there it was. Mind you, in keeping with my New Year's resolution, I had invited several folks to come with me, and all it would have cost them was their food, but no one was available.

So, with true delayed reaction, today I woke up with snakes in my head. Nasty, hissing, lashing out at anything that dared to move. The snakes started on Saturday, tiny little writhing things, easily pushed aside. I was traveling alone. I had already gotten a late start, hoping a friend would be able to join me. There it was, already mid-afternoon, and I was still in Savannah. So, off I went. And then I got lost, having taken an early exit from the highway and not realizing until I had lost at least thirty minutes backtracking. That's when the first little snake raised its head, forked tongue flicking, eyes glinting. Damn!

Back on the road again, I had looked at my trusty map and determined where I should exit, what road signs to follow, and off I went, enjoying my music. I wasn't going to arrive as early as I had hoped, but I should still handily beat nightfall getting into the downtown area. I made my exit, followed the signs... and missed one. Again, I went almost thirty minutes, too far to turn back, having to gamely continue on to reach the next major highway, after having stopped for directions at the police station in St. George. And just that fast, the little snake was whispering in my ear: this wouldn't have happened if my husband had left that slut alone. I wouldn't be on this trip by myself, no one to watch the map for me, iff...

Hell's belles. I wouldn't be on this trip anyway if I were still married. I wouldn't have heard this particular blues band at the Savannah Jazz Festival in 2007, primarily because he wouldn't have cared much for the blues. I wouldn't have realized how much I had missed the blues and brass and traveling to concerts... because I would have still been part of a team of two, a couple, iff...
So, I find my way downtown from the hotel, find a decent enough parking place, and set about trying to see the Holy City Sinners at the Mills House. After a half-mile's walk, I arrive. And I just missed them. Damn! The concierge did give me a program for the Lowcountry Blues Bash, so that was good. So, off I went to the next scheduled event, about a half-mile down the road. I was getting hungry by this time and thought I'd get something to eat while I listened to Beverly "Guitar" Watkins, a 70-year-old wonder woman. The place was packed, no tables at all, so I stood, with a bunch of others. I made way for a waitress to get to some tables blocked by the crowd... and this little chippie darts in front of me - and stops. She tried to get her girlfriend to come up by her, but I made sure there was no room for that nonsense. Next thing you know, the chippie's boyfriend, who has fetched her a beer, is on my right, trying to get up by her and in front of me. I said to him "Surely you don't think you're going to cut in front of me." He looks at me like I had materialized out of thin air and says "Um, that's my girlfriend, I was just trying to get next to her." "Well, she jumped in front of me when I moved for the waitress, but you're not going to." "I wasn't trying to block your view," the boy said, "I was just wanting to stand by my girl." Said girlfriend, by the way, has taken her beer and hasn't turned around even once to see what is going on right behind her. "Well, why didn't you ask that woman to move?", I said, pointing to the woman on my left. The boy said, "Well that isn't any of my concern." "Uh huh. But asking ME to move IS your concern?" He looked at me like I must be crazed and stepped back into the crowd. Next thing I know, the little chippie was no longer in front of me. I enjoyed the concert for an hour, then realized I needed to go if I wanted to get some dinner before Elliott and The Untouchables took the stage at the next venue, so I turned around to leave... and there was the little chippie behind me, none too happy to not be upfront where she can be seen. Out I went, feeling like I had won one against the users and abusers. Hiissssss.

The rest of the evening was wonderful. I met some new folks, a young cougar-hunter tried to pick me up, I danced and listened to my boys play and had every bit as good a time as I had hoped. Even when the people I'd been dancing with left after the first set, I still had a fine time. And after it was all done, I walked down to where I had left my car... and it was still there, miraculously, as I had apparently parked in a loading zone. Whew! I went straight back to the hotel, got up to my room, got ready for bed... and noticed the noises from the next room. Slither, slither.... hissss.

The trip back was to be leisurely, but I had gotten directions wrong - again- and by the time I could make the correction, I was going to be late for a family dinner in Glennville. Damn. As it turned out, I got there on time and we all had a good time in each others company, but... by the time I got to my house, it was already close to 6pm. On a Sunday night. And the edge began to creep all over me, the snakes gliding in the background, waiting to spring out, gathering momentum, waiting for this morning.

And now? The slitherers are gone. Drowned in the deep blue ocean, washed out to sea, leaving me calm on the beach again.
Breathe.