Bladder Blather

...As I waited in line my finger gnawed at the label on the clear plastic water bottle. The line into the club was longer than I planned for and humidity was making my brow sweat. People were too close to me. Front and back. I stood there, focusing on breath, trying to think of nothing else other than holding it in and trying to appreciate that patience is a virtue.
Despite all the new-age crap I buy into and all the hours I've spent in yoga the mantra fell flat and my bladder expanded. It's only 11, I thought to myself, why are this many people out? Isn't everyone supposed to be out of town? I thought it was some New York tradition to desert the island for the weekend leaving nothing behind but a concrete ghost town and Daily Post tumbleweed?
The bass beat thumped the concrete under my feet making it more difficult for my bladder to stabilize itself. I grew anxious not only at the thought of relieving myself but the idea that something was occurring inside and that by waiting in line I was certainly missing out on whatever party lay beyond the square-boxed bouncer and the neon glass door. I bit my lip. I contemplated a cigarette, the label of the bottle now half peeled off. Breathe through the nostrils, in...out. There's no place you can be but right here, right now.
"ID?" The bouncer snapped.
I flung out my wallet, legs crossed and my body undulating from side to side, as if to create a seesaw of fluid within my organs. The bouncer scanned me over, figuring I might be some sketchball, rolled his eyes and let me through.
I ran through the steam-packed basement club crowd and made my way to a bathroom. YES!....no....
There was a line! Of course! What was I thinking earlier? I should have told myself that waiting on the outside is only half the battle. It's like at disney world when for two hours you've been waiting in line to get inside the skull because that's where you think the ride begins once you get there you find it's a heart-stopping revelation that you've just reached the beginning of the "inside" line. My once perfect and pristine water bottle now stood in my hand as a cheerleader who went to meth opposed to college. It was naked, label now completely worn off, top unscrewed and suffering the wrath of my fist, clenching deeper and tighter to take the edge off battle between liquid and bladder. I bit my lips. Held my legs together and tried to repeat. Patience is a virtue.