The Night I Almost Texted a Fake Excuse

February seventh. There was a point, standing in the locker room at the end of my shift last Wednesday, where I had a fake excuse fully drafted in my head. Something about being tired. Something about Gerald needing water. I had it ready. And then I didn't send it, and I put my coat on, and I went.

It was a work thing, the kind of loosely organized post-shift gathering that lives on the break room calendar for two weeks and you acknowledge with a thumbs-up emoji and then kind of forget about until the day of. A bar six blocks from the building. Low lighting. A bar snack situation. Nothing was riding on it. That's maybe why I went, because nothing was riding on it, and I've been trying to notice when I use that as a reason not to do something instead of a reason to just go.

between sentences

I stayed longer than I expected. I'm not sure at what point I stopped checking the time, but at some point I did, and when I finally left it was later than a Wednesday usually gets for me. I walked to the bus stop and it was cold and I had the particular feeling of someone who went and doesn't regret it, which is different from the feeling of someone who went and had a great time. Quieter. More like: yes. That.

actually stayed the whole time

I've been thinking about it since. Not in a big way, just the small fact of it. The fake excuse I didn't send. The way a Wednesday can turn into something if you don't close the door on it preemptively. The sketchbook is still on the table. The winter outdoor skills session is still a few weeks out. Everything is still exactly where it was last week. But Wednesday was good.