Way to go team!

I do not play sports. After this evening, I think spectator sports may be out of the question, too for a while. We attended a grandson's volleyball game at a local high school. We frequently attend his games, but this one made me sick. Sick enough to come home and lie down. Maybe it was the nosebleed bleacher seats ten feet from the ceiling. Or the combination stench of sweaty teenage boys and smelly tennis shoes permeating the room. It could have been the cheap perfume worn by a mom sitting directly in front of us that made my nostrils burn. Perhaps it was the deafening, skull splitting be-bop music (?) reverberating before the game began. Watching young boys on the court with full beards was a bit disturbing. I don't know WHY. My nerves were raw. Testosterone overload in the room: one of the coaches harrumphing loudly and disputing the referee's calls, boys pounding a ball with killer strength then high-fiving one another, a dad demanding loudly that his son ride home in his car instead of on the team bus. People cheering and stomping and clapping. Unable to alternate my feet, I hobbled down the bleachers thump-thump-thumping like a toddler, suffering from a headache, nausea, feeling off balance.

Sensory overload, that is what it was. I experienced briefly what some children have to live with all the time. Sensory overload is a real malady, especially affecting those on the autism spectrum. Hmmm, maybe I'm on that arc.

It was some game. Our team won. Yay!

(Sioux thinks I'm "special", but I think Lisa nailed it. The assault on my senses induced a migrane. My friend suffers from migranes regularly. I can't imagine having to endure these symptoms on a regular basis.)