Blog

I had a drunk-driving dream last night.

I was behind the wheel of a white pickup truck, and while I didn’t feel intoxicated, I recklessly steered into an abrupt, wide turn that cut short when the back end of the vehicle bashed into a concrete wall.

Crunching metal. Flying debris. Rubbernecking passerby. Immediate feelings of terror and panic. (None of this was enough to snap me awake.)

It was my third offense, the dream proceeded to reveal to me, and police showed up on scene before I could flee. I don’t know if they intended to take me to jail; my thoughts were immediately consumed with the cover story I’d have to come up with to keep my family from finding out how badly I 🤬ed up…

Then, finally, that beautiful moment arrived. You know it well, I’m sure. You’re at the climax of the nightmare, and suddenly realize you can just wake up and it will all go away.

And so, I did.

Before I was the middle-aged woman in black Under Armour leggings walking through the neighborhood at all times of day, multiple times of day (doesn’t every suburban neighborhood have at least one of these?), I was the pre-teen in Lee jeans, happily roller skating up and down the block for hours on end, listening to music and stopping only when her mom stepped out the front door to call her in for supper.

Occasionally, I’d get a phone call from another kid asking if I wanted to “ride bikes,” or maybe play catch, but for the most part, my favorite childhood activity involved one pair of white Roller Derbies (with pastel stripes, as shown), and, of course, one double-decker Panasonic boom box with a stack of homemade mix tapes.

When outdoor conditions didn’t cooperate, I skated in my grandma’s basement. That place was the textbook grandma’s basement — both fascinating and spooky, dimly lit, smelling like plumbing and old stuff, packed with appliances and 1950/60s artifacts, like Alvin and the Chipmunks records, early-edition “Clue” and “Life” games, and my dad’s childhood train board that still worked and inspired many a made-up story in my head. (Come to think of it, everything back then inspired made-up stories in my head…)

The basement was not well-suited to serve as a makeshift roller rink, but I carved out enough of a clear path, winding my way around the tiled floor. Then, I literally carved up the tile on the floor with my skate wheels as I circled and circled, singing along to Tiffany and Madonna. I don’t remember Grandma being mad.

I do remember feeling so totally happy when I was free to move.

Maybe it was anxiety driving me, keeping me from ever sitting comfortably still, and fueling a constant desire to break away — to go my own way. I would eventually establish an identity playing team sports, but deep down, I didn’t want to have to perform for other people. Trying to be perfect was too much pressure, and fear of failure was too hauntingly painful to bear for very long. I relished any chance to go away, be alone and calm down by keeping active; skating became my go-to escape, long before I found alcohol.

This week, I got a real-life Dundie (digital certificate standing in for cheap trophy) and was given “the floor” for the first 10 minutes of our weekly team teleconference. My new coworkers wanted me to highlight five fun facts about myself.

😳!

Mind ➡️ blank. I mean, other than my 397 days of sobriety, the personal revelations I’ve made in the past year through therapy/recovery, and the prescription for a new mood stabilizer that’s currently waiting for me at CVS 😬, I couldn’t think of anything “fun” — or, really, anything factual that wouldn’t result in excruciating awkward silence and immediately cement my role as Office Outcast after just one month on the job.

Heck, I’d already, unapologetically, blew off their Virtual Happy Hour invite a couple weeks ago. And believe it or not, as much as I’ve always loved the loner’s life, I don’t go around actively trying to be antisocial.

So, I pulled out the old standby.

“I was at Game 7 of the World Series in 2016 and got a ‘W’ flag tattoo to celebrate the Cubs winning, even though I’m really scared of needles and blood and pretty much anything…um, biological,” I blurted out…to a group comprised of 80 percent Bulgarian residents and 0 percent Midwesterners, by the way… “I also played Division I college softball, and even though I was a pitcher, I literally cannot throw a slow-pitch pitch over the plate to SAVE MY LIFE. …Weird, right?”

*30, maybe 40 seconds pass with no sound*

“Does anyone like the show ‘Better Call Saul,’ because I just started rewatching it on Netflix and I can’t believe how the characters drink beer or tequila like every day and never get hangovers or end up with weight or digestive issues or DUIs!!”