Once more to the moon and back

He’s gone. Neil Armstrong, one of the first Americans to put a boot on the moon, died yesterday. While news of this was still emerging, I was busy treading my own boot marks on pristine territory (for me, that is).

My old friend and best lady took me out to the Goods, a soul-funk night remarkably devoid of pretension. There was very little preening, a lot of hardcore dancing, and just enough flirting to make it worth the crick in my knees.

It’s been a long time since I went out like this. The last time was my hen night, which was high-jacked by one of my friends who insisted on taking me to a club where I was handled outrageously by a lady. She kept asking me why I was there and whether I really meant to get married. In hindsight, she may well have had a point.

This time, I was at the opposite end of things, dancing out my frustrations, dancing into something else – a state of near-bliss – powered by nothing more than water and a veggie burger. Around me, people ducked, dove, spun or just plain flailed. There was a lot of laughter, some of it my own.

And not once did I think of Ben. I didn’t even think of Rosie, much as I adore her. Last night was just for me and I don’t feel guilty about that.

Months ago, I was talking to my therapist about the old days, when I used to go out clubbing with friends, and the sheer ecstasy music can bring. I told her I was desperate to feel that again – to stand outside myself and feel nothing but beats moving through me.

Thanks to my best lady, that’s just what I managed to achieve. If dancing is a form of meditation, then I achieved a brief form of enlightenment. Some people call it entering the zone. I guess I was there last night, hot-footing it with the best of them, strutting my way to the moon and back.

Of course, it all came to an end somewhere around 2 o’clock in the morning. The floor was heaving, but our age got the better of us and we left (me, reluctantly). On the way back home, we scoffed chocolate doughnuts – yet another thing I haven’t done in years. I didn’t feel guilty about that either.

Last night (or, more precisely, early this morning), I dreamt that Ben had come out of rehab and had found a place of his own to stay. As soon as he moved out, a weight slid right out of my spine, and I felt myself blowing up with contentment, floating away, I don’t know where. Maybe to the moon.



5 thoughts on “Once more to the moon and back

  1. Hurray! Hurray for you taking some YOU” time and enjoying what you used to enjoy and haven’t for soooo long! I am happy for you! It reminds me of the song, “I Hope You Dance”
    My goodness! You are such a good writer!

  2. Lovely! My therapist is always encouraging physical activity to heal my soul. I run to music and often times, I wish I could be dancing. But until I run off a few pounds, there is NO WAY that I will dance in public.
    I’m so glad that you had fun. You deserved it. You deserved to be carefree and not carry the weight of the world on your shoulders for AT LEAST one night…hopefully more.

  3. Pingback: And so, goodbye… « marriedtoalcoholic

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