dariaphoebe: (redhead)
A shared fiction. Something that, in polite company at least, everyone plays along with even if they know better. It probably falls away when you're around people who are broken, whether that's drunk, victim of oppression, or whatever else might be giving them their own problems.

My third and final stop of the day was Mr Smalls Theater. Earlier I'd visited a couple breweries to the north of the city, and mused on my way back that if I had a ticket to Manchester Orchestra, that would be my plan, but it was sold out. A couple minutes of twitter searching, and I arranged to buy someone's spare ticket. I changed into something a little lighter for the sure-to-be-steamy concert and headed to Millvale.

I arrived in time for the first opener, and between songs their lead singer posed "You're supposed to be depressed, to make you grow into a better person." I'm not sure, but it was food for thought. It was a fun show... but during the encore, a couple people got the idea to crowdsurf, one of whom went overtop me.

Here's the thing. My hair is, well, not mine. I mean, I didn't steal it, but it's mine in about the same way my shoes are. So, when the person flailed a bit going over me, suddenly it was a bit less mine. For a moment, I was embarrassed, and in the process of making it again an approximation of reasonable, I lost my headband on the floor, and then had to fish around in the dark to find that. And while some of the people around me, up near the stage, had been shoving around a bit more than was really pleasant, there were no comments. The guy in front of me felt me brush against him as I bent to collect the headband, turned, saw that I was just picking something up, and turned back. I knew the lights would be coming up shortly, and I knew I looked rumpled. I felt undignified. For a moment.

Step 55: No one can carry out being composed every moment of their life. We all slip. Own your humanity, and help others own theirs when they falter.

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dariaphoebe

May 2017

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