05 August 2016

Was that really me?

Well that was the weekend that was (bonus points if you get the TV reference).
Seriously, I don't even remember this

My 35th high school reunion has come and gone and there is much to reflect upon.

First, I had a great time – far better than I thought I would have had.
Seriously, that's me having fun. It can be done.

Why? Because people like me always prepare for the worst. It’s a classic trait of folks with depression, anxiety and bipolar issues. We’re mostly concerned that we may do or say something that will offend someone – and we won’t realize it.

And add to that concern, the fact that I had not seen most of these people for at least 25 years, some 35 years. And, of course, there are the memories of high school, many good, but many awkward and cringe-worthy.

The difference between me and others is that I ruminate over those embarrassments all these years later. Sometimes, it seems like only yesterday and hope people will forget because I remember almost everything.

What happened to me was shocking. In fact, I’m having a hard time relating this any other way but to do it in bulleted points:
  • People were glad to see me and I felt included in everything. It took a while to get over the shock.
  • I was told some people actually showed up because I was there. I find that unbelievable.
  • My wife (who was the official photographer for the event) and I were thanked profusely for everything we did. I am not used to being thanked for anything. And we did not do much of anything to really deserve it. She was the photographer and I was the PR man. Neither of us did the grunt work of reserving and preparing the venues, getting the hotel, DJ and invite list.
  • I had a genuinely good time.
  • I’m left with a feeling of wanting more.
  • And perhaps I’m not such a schlub.


schlub
SHləb/
Noun NORTH AMERICAN informal
a talentless, unattractive, or boorish person.

Of course, once I got home, I burrowed back into the living room couch waiting for another reason to extract myself from the house or, perhaps, the third full moon of the calendar year.

 
Seriously. . . I'm alright, don't nobody worry 'bout me