Hopscotch: It’s not you, it’s me.

Dear Hopscotch,

It’s not you, it’s me.  Last year at this time I was the brand new ED of a struggling little non-profit.  I had Hopscotch tickets.  I hadn’t the energy or the stamina to go to even half of the shows that I wanted to.  At one point I looked at my husband and said “I think I’m too old for this.  I’m not having fun.  I don’t think I can do this next year”.

One year later, my husband had already purchased our tickets, “just in case”, and this week he asked me if my decision had changed any.  It hadn’t.  If anything, one year later, still the ED of a tiny, struggling (but less struggling) non-profit, my answer is more definite.  I simply said, “I can’t do all of that loud and all of those people.  I have enough “loud” and “people” in my life every day.”

Being crammed, dick to ass in Slim’s, watching “Pissed Jeans”, no longer holds the appeal to me that it used to.  Having my bags searched at the Plaza no longer holds much charm.  The yearly dude trying to grind on my butt during a set no longer seems like something I feel like dealing with.  I no longer have the stamina for day drinking.  I can’t really afford to twist my ankle in a hole this year.  Really, I’ve changed, not you, Hopscotch.

I gave my wristband to our friend, Katie, so my husband will have someone to go to show with this year.  This evening I’m looking forward to a hot shower, a nap, and a nice walk with the dog.  Maybe I’ll watch a couple of TED talks or catch up on my reading.  I’ll have a nice cup of herbal tea for my arthritis (lol, but really), and soak in the scent of lavender.  Most of all, I’ll enjoy the fact that I’m not standing, it isn’t hot and sweaty, and it’s not loud.

Drink a tallboy and see a band with a crazy name for me this weekend!