Friday, Friday – gotta get down on Friday. Tonight I’m going out, and hoping it’ll be fun, fun, fun because I’m looking forward to the weekend. With my friend in town (literally in town, she’s gone off sightseeing and I’m still at home taking it easy – this possibly makes me a bad host, but at least it prevents a severe case of the grumps. Seems to me that while I’ve recovered so much from what chemo changed, I still have no tolerance for long, hot walks on the heat-waving pavements of capital cities.) she’s requested we visit a real European nightclub.
Hmm. Real European night club? I’ve been to several clubs in Europe, all with a general vibe of ‘small hole-in-the-wall place to dance’ as opposed to the monster clubs you might get in, for instance, Cancun, Mexico. So I believe this might be a case of reality not meeting expectation. However, another friend, a Hungarian friend, has promised to take us out on the town tonight – he has a club in mind that is, apparently, “Hungaricum”. Whatever that means! (Geez, I hope it’s not rude, but then he isn’t a fellow to be crass, so I’m guessing that whatever Hungaricum means, it’s a nice phrase).
Anyhow. Why is this night special? It’s special because I haven’t gone out dancing in over a year. More than a year. For ages!
First: will I remember how to dance? Meh, it’s not too hard, I’ll likely remember.
Second: will I stay awake? My general bedtime is 10pm, which is pathetic for a woman not yet thirty, but there you go. I love my bed, and my bed loves me. We have a close relationship. So fingers crossed I’ve enough energy to shake my booty, at least till midnight.
Third: will it be a good night? Yes. That shouldn’t even be a question. It will, for sure, be a good night.
And then Saturday will follow Friday (duh), and we’ll sleep in and visit another spa. This time we’ll be going to Széchenyi Gyógyfürdő (http://www.budapestgyogyfurdoi.hu/hu/szechenyi/elerhetoseg) which is a beautiful old spa in the park area of Budapest. This will be Cami’s last day in the city, since on Sunday she’ll fly out, and hopefully it’s a nice end to her Hungarian experience.
And then (and then, and then, and then). . . I’ll get back to the real world – sorta – and start figuring out this online lit mag idea I’ve been having. It’s an attempt to give breast cancer fighters, family, carers, friend a place for creative thinking. Should be good, if I can ever get it started!
And while I type this, Goofy the dog, is pushing her muzzle against my arm in a constant attempt for attention. I’d forgotten how sweet and earnest dogs can be; they’re happy balls of fur and slobber.