The problem with drinking copious amounts of coffee is having to release your bladder in minute intervals … especially during the wee hours of the morning. Take just the other morning for example …

I like my coffee; so much so, that I sometimes drink it late in the afternoon as I sit to read or type, which probably isn’t the best idea. I have also been drinking more and more water lately because I’ve been dabbling in more hiking excursions, and you know, just plain old body maintenance.

Now, I already have a pin-sized bladder. When I quench my thirst on more than just an average basis, my bladder cries out at least twice an hour. The other morning, after a late night out, I was jolted awake by a piercing pain and the urge to make a quick trip to the bathroom. I know my house like the back of my hand. I could navigate the halls and numerous staircases, blindfolded and with noise cancelling headphones. Imagine my surprise when I leave my warm cocoon of a bed only to fall down my steps.

It happened in the blink of an eye. I turned on the light as I tiptoed down the attic steps – the location of my bedroom – for the first time in years because like I said, I know my house. I made it to the fifth step from the landing when my right foot slipped on the lip of the stair. It was like a scene from a cheesy cartoon where the main animal character slips on a banana peel.

My pink toenail polish was level with my tired eyes, and before I knew it, I had already slammed down on my tailbone. I careened down the remaining steps and landed in a heap at the bottom. My mother came racing out of her bedroom down the hall, and my sister flew out of her room, arms flailing. Neither one really acknowledged my presence because the wind had been knocked clear from my tired form. Plus, I was now angry that the lower half of my body felt like it had been hit by a massive truck.

I proceeded to walk at a 90-degree angle to the bathroom because that was the whole purpose of my adventure down the steps. As I was walking into the bathroom, my foot landed in something mushy and squishy and all kinds of gross – cat vomit. The was just the icing on the cake.

The next morning, my sister texted me and asked if I had fallen down the steps the night prior. When I told her that I had, she responded by telling me that she thought it was a part of her dream. She had slept walk through the entire exchange, eyes close, unaware of the situation at hand. What a morning.

When I awoke the next morning – because I decided that I needed to creep back up my steps and sleep off the pain – I couldn’t move. It took me a half an hour to get out of bed, and the next few days were torture. I couldn’t sit to save my life because I had badly bruised my tailbone to the point where sitting wasn’t really an option anymore.

But that, ladies and gents, isn’t even the most interesting part of this week of adventures. I have two more stories to tickle your fancy. After the tailbone disaster, my family, including a younger cousin, drove all the way to my sister’s recruiter’s office.

You see, my sister leaves for the Navy Monday morning, and her recruiter wanted to meet with the entire family. However, my 9-year-old cousin and I decided to stay in the car while my parents went through the bootcamp spiel for the second time.

As we were sitting in the car, completing various long division problems, I received an emergency alert on my phone to take shelter immediately because of a tornado. I. Started. To. Panic. I had a 9-year-old and our 12-year-old Yorkie in the car with me, and I was frantically trying to figure out how to save them both.

Picture little old me contemplating life and attempting to configure an exit strategy. My plan began with multiple calls to my parents in the recruitment center, and eventually the decision was made that we should run for our lives to the building.

The 9-year-old was scared, but I looked her dead in the face and said, “When I tell you to run, you run.” I grabbed the dog, threw my purse over my shoulder, pressed the button, and yelled, “RUN!”

We darted through torrential downpours to the door, skipping over massive puddles, until we finally reached the threshold. Now, picture three recruiters, my parents, my sister, two soaking wet individuals, and a sopping wet and curious dog who only wanted to sniff everyone and roam around.

But that, is not even the most interesting part of my week. You see, I am a homebody. I have never liked going out into large crowds with people I knew of from way back when. However, I happened to attend something just last night that was probably the most interesting sea of individuals I have ever seen in one place at one time.

Apparently, because there is nothing better to do on a Friday night in my hometown, people my age attend what is called a deck party. I had never gone to one of these events, mainly because I was unaware of their existence; however, I attended for one time only, and at least I have a story to tell.

When we arrived at the ripe hour of 7:40 p.m., it was awkward. The sun was still shining as white girls attempted to dance with rhythm in their skimpy rompers by the “DJ.” I was a short human in a sea of giants; so, from our spot at the far end of the deck, I could see familiar faces in the crowds that were now bordering tipsy.

The most awkward experience is when you catch the glances of people you haven’t seen in passing in four years. I’m a people watcher. As a writer, I have always observed the masses with the hope that a unique character profile might emerge from the bits and pieces I’ve strung together. Well, I most certainly observed quite the cast of stars.

The first character to enter stage left was an older man with a shiny dome who decided to bust moves on the 5’ by 5’ makeshift dancefloor. At one point, we went to watch the spectacle, and the dancing man began grinding on the wannabee twerkers in the short rompers. What a sight.

There was also a stout man in a fedora, suspenders, and bulky jewelry. When he wasn’t perusing the clumps of attendees, this man also had his moment on the dance floor. It was the strangest mix of individuals I have ever witnessed in one setting over the span of hours. The pairings, the music, the fashion … there was never a dull moment.

I’m so glad that I went; however, because I got to spend time with someone special. It was fun to people watch with another person for a change. But it is also exhilarating to just spend time with a singular human who gets you and makes you laugh even when you’re feeling sick. A person who spends the entire day with you’re loud and crazy family and then lets you use his shoulder as a pillow on the way home. The only person to ever get you to slow dance at 10:30 p.m. without music and giggle incessantly for no reason.

In short, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, and I cannot wait to see what the rest of the summer holds before real life finally settles in and my world gets a little more delightfully complicated. As always, coffee keeps me going, and I’m sure the steamy goodness will continue to guide me as my adventures this summer continue. Until next time …