Another Weird Evening

I'm in my office doing my Friday paperwork shuffle when at about 4:00 PM my cell phone rings.  It's my Sonoma County bestie, MSS, asking what my plans were for the evening.  To be honest, I had no plans.  I was just going to go home and cry as that's been my pattern as of late.  MSS knows this and wants to bring me out to get me out of my rut.  I agree to accompany her to a dive bar in Petaluma and then to Sebastopol for live African music/dance. 

Talk about a weird twist of events.  Upon entering the African music/dance party, I see a guy I used to work with YEARS ago.  The story is too long and complicated, but the gist of it is that I saved his life arranging a liver transplant for him that the insurance coverage did not want to cover nor deal with.  To this day he has no idea what I went though to make the liver transplant happen.  Fast forward 15 years.  There he is tonight sitting a table huggy/kissy with his new lady love DRINKING A BEER.  I went to the ends of the earth trying to make this guy well from his alcoholic liver.  I pass by him.  He does not see me.  He has no idea I'm there.  After a little bit, there he is out dancing to the music enjoying life.  It took every ounce of my being not to beat him over the head in front of everybody and scream, "If it weren't for me, you'd be DEAD -- ASSHOLE." 

I digress.  I did refrain myself, but it was difficult.  On another note, I immersed myself in the rhythm of West African drums and music.  There is something that speaks to my primitive, tribal soul that moves my body.  For the band on stage comprised of black guys to take note of my dancing and comment, "You move pretty good -- for a white girl" is a compliment I will never tire of.