Saturday, August 27, 2016

Dear Rick Springfield...

Dear Rick,
     I'm a terrible girlfriend.  I have put my own needs ahead of yours for the last time. You see, you have been there for me on oh-so-many occasions. You've never let me down. You've been on time for our dates throughout the years, and the words you've said to me have meant so, so much. You've given me hugs when I needed them, and shared your soul.  But I suck.  At the first sign of inconvenience, I bailed on you.  Stood you up.  Left you hanging.

I blame it on old age.  Years ago, pre-kid, the eight-hour drive to Myrtle Beach on a Friday night for a Saturday night show didn't even cause me to blink twice.  And that one paid off, in spades.  You wrapped your arm around me like an old friend while I tried not to pass out.  And it was a great night.
But I'm sure you understand.  You'd understand that the last couple of weeks have been very trying for me.  You'd understand the need to recharge and just exist for a little while.  You'd probably even understand that it was a really tough choice for me, one that I'm second-guessing even now, knowing there's no way I could jump in the car right now and drive really fast and still make it to the show tonight.  I don't know if you'd understand the tears I stupidly shed (or that I'm shedding now) when I made that final decision, but then again, that wasn't really about you.  It wasn't even about the waste of the money I spent on Gold Circle seats months ago, when it seemed like Myrtle Beach was the closest you'd come to me. That was about being stuck, straddling a decision like an ever-widening gap, then having to make a quick, final attempt to get both legs on solid ground.  And maybe, just maybe, about knowing you'd been closer and I missed those opportunities, too.

But, see...I don't think I can explain it.  My priorities are just different right now.  It's not that I'm forsaking you for another.  That would never happen.  It's just that I need to focus on myself a little, not in a narcissistic kind of way, but in a hold-myself-together kind of way.  Too many changes in too short a time requiring too much of my physical and emotional energy have just left nothing else.  And I couldn't do it.

So, have a great show tonight.  You'll be on my mind.  I'll be wishing I were center stage for "Human Touch."  I'll be jealous of other women getting Rick-sweated upon.  I'll be wondering if we'd have had a chance to talk before the show, and if Andrew would have gotten to talk to you again and tell you how much he loves "If Wishes Were Fishes" because you drop a couple of F-bombs.  But I'll also be braless in my jammies by about ten o'clock, and my feet will be recovering from wearing dressy shoes to school all week.  I'll be snuggled up with the blankets pulled up to my chin and a glass of the red wine we love so much on my nightstand...and if I want, I can YouTube you from the comfort of my air-conditioned room without worrying about drunks pissing me off, or traffic, or anything else.

And I know you'd understand.
Love, Me

No comments: