Keep the crazy to yourself

Yesterday I met a friend for coffee, someone I've known for years. He knew me when - when I was not a mom, when I showed up for the White Trash Bowling Bash in my cut offs and white t-shirt and black bra (with a pack of never-to-be-smoked Kools in the strap), when I had a staff of 14 in an agency of 70 and was being paged every 10 minutes throughout the day, when my biggest responsibility outside of work was feeding and walking my pets, when I had no bedtime on weekend night's because I had no early morning baby monitor wake-up call, and he was even there the night I danced on the bar at my Studio 54-themed party in platform shoes and a satin tube top. I worked very hard at my job, spent 60 hours a week obsessing about it and the rest of my waking hours escaping from it by snowboarding, doing yoga, hiking, shopping, exploring, painting, writing, gardening and seeing movies in Really Big Theaters, all alone in the dark and loving every minute of it.

He too was fairly free, in a long-term relationship but professionally untethered, trying to determine his future and not sure what it would hold or what he'd like it to hold.

We've both moved past those days of amorphous futures and into the arms of our respective spouses, and children are now part of the picture for both of us. I have my son, and he and his wife are expecting their first child in April. And we're supposedly Grown Up.

I was thrilled to get out of the house and talk face-to-face with another Grown Up. I spend so much of my day, and often days on end, in my darkened office at home. My only in-person conversations are with a 3-year old and an English-as-a-second-language babysitter (who the hell am I kidding - we have a nanny; liberal guilt precludes me from using that term) and my crazy dog, who has grown weary of my monologues. My husband is not an early-morning talker, and by the time he gets home at night he's often fresh out of words. So here was my chance - someone who I knew I could make laugh, who made me laugh, and with whom I now shared these Very Grown Up Assets - spouse, real job and children.

I was a blathering idiot.

My enthusiasm over live conversation led me down many wayward paths, including complaining about a mom at our school, racism, the best parenting magazine, my son's dreams, which bouncy seat is the best and the bashing of cities in which my friend might work or live in the near future. This is not what I came here to talk about. This is not what he came here to talk about it. I realized I was out of control, and had visions of my bipolar sister in her manic moments and thought AH, THAT'S WHAT IT FEELS LIKE.

Maybe it was the coffee. Maybe it was the sugary lemon bar. But I'm pretty sure it's too much time spent alone. As I drove home, I vowed to get more often and ensure that my craziness only comes out in little bits, preferably with strangers, rather than in a cannon blast with people I hope to see again.

I'm off to share the crazy now with the people at Peet's. Wish me luck.