The day before yesterday I waaaay overslept and didn’t have time even for a last shower before bidding adieu to my house. I threw everything that was untethered into paper bags and hauled Stella & crate into the car. Unwashed, I went back inside for a far-too-speedy last look at my universe, and drove off to pick up Jason & Eleni. By that time it was almost 1:00: a late start for a trip to LA.
Eleni slept most of the way there while Jason sat in the front, as vigilant to the antics of the passing bad drivers as I was. A bright spot came when I got to see My Aqueducty, whom I haven’t seen in ages. The beaver-tail cactus in red bloom along the side of the freeway were further proof that we were in California, modest evidence of life in a bleak and parched landscape dotted with signs saying “Dust Bowl Made by Congress” or something like that.
Friends are tired of my whining about how hard things are at the moment, with the logistical and emotional complications of this move. My brain still knows that pulling up roots and leaving everyone behind and moving across the country and getting a degree in something I may end up being interested in … all that is good. But the hard things are hard things:
- Finding a pet-friendly hotel near a dog park, only to realize your dog refuses to use the dog park the way you wanted her to and, instead of peeing, she plays with friends and their butts.
- Putting your dog on a plane in a crate that’s too small (I thought a “large” would be — well — large) and saying goodbye to her for a year. I wanted her to have something of mine, so I gave her a pillowcase from my dirty laundry. She’ll know it’s mine because it has my initials on it.
- Driving twenty out of twenty-eight hours.
- Saying goodbye to your daughter and her husband for a year, but pretending we’ll see each other before I go because “goodbye” is too painful.
- Backing out of your daughter’s driveway and crashing into the neighbor’s house, pulverizing the driver’s side mirror.
- Saying goodbye to more good friends.
- Being informed of an unexpected task required of me by tomorrow: to trade in Dad’s old “death trap” (a term I’d have reserved for the motorcycle of the person I’m quoting) and buying a new car for my daughter. Also being informed that I possess a veritable symphony of toxic traits. All I could think to reply to my evaluator was, “You are so … worthless,” which I felt bad for saying because I believed in its veracity.
Above: the death trap, left; the Honda Fit that I didn’t buy, but that looked good on Lulu.
- Waking up to a nightmare about getting stuck on an amusement park ride that consists of individual ropes that riders cling to, and it’s spinning you in forceful circles high in the air, around and around and around, and your grip is slipping but the ride won’t stop.
A huge thanks to Eleni & Jason for their indispensable help and good cheer on our LA trip.
no good-byes, only good on-ya’s. I couldn’t figger out the my aqueduct-y references….What? You love that thang? When I see it, I seethe, seeing good, clean, clear northern CA water siphoning down south, to support those starving good-hearted cotton-farmers and those starving, good-hearted 90210-ers (I prolly got the zip wrong, since I don’t have a TV, never watched the show, etc. etc.) (So when I see it, I think dyno-mite!) Anyway, sorry for the stress, random acts of harshness, and uncertain dance steps. BUT I know you’re going to love it, even if you’re loving your angst, and singular experiences. I’m excited for you and want you to know, it takes more than a one-year cross country foray to sever friendships forged in NevCo….
Things could be worse. I took Pup to Petco for his second set of shots and when I sat down to pay I asked the assistant how long I would have to wait before I could eat him. Vets I now add to my list of humorless people. Pup is doing well and will be aloud out on his own tomorrow. Hope he doesn’t get his ass kicked by all those bad cats out there. Oh well. Goode volpe.
This is a week of tribulations, but they will all be made worthwhile when you get to Brattleboro (sp?). Try not to let certain individuals push you down. It seems like when a person gets to the point where they are spitting in fury, the problem becomes theirs, not yours.
…but at least you are a phenomenally gifted writer.
I will give you two more compliments, for a total of three, and that which encompass three entirely different categories of…traits, as some douchebag I once heard said. This is what I sometimes ask of those who know me best.
You are capable of being firm and diplomatic, and seem to be able to sense when it is worth your while-that does not mean that you are a pushover those other times. You just have better shit to do.
You are very, very pretty; especially your eyes, but also your everything. Along these lines: your clothes are super cute, but your style’s not contrived, and you carry yourself like you’re comfortable in your skin, and your smile’s all glowy-even still, after the tons of shit you’ve been through-just in the past 5 years alone.
I agree with Yo-Nenny, and you should simply walk away from young dogs and men who try to bite you. Tell them that is what their tails are for.
Ha. ANAL Fit! That’s the best one yet…that and anal Scrambler.
I has tooken your advice on writing about my personages, Gin. My first one I decided to be Ranger Bob who works for the forestry service in the State of Maine. He’s good one and fits on to postcard as does the text (on the back of course, as in not on the front). I’ll send you one when I gets them back from printer in less than ONE week. Who is your friend Anal Anonymous? Does Ranger Bob need to sniff this one out? So long, Synonymous Q. Fitt.
Bul: I’m really glad you are writing bios for your Faces of the Week. Most excellent.
Everyone: Two people have asked about the “anal” reference left in the 8/25 comment left by a certain “anonymous” (I know who it is). Let me contextualize: Individuals who are lacking in intellectual fodder while driving resort to a little game. They read the model of cars they pass, and then precede it with the word “Anal.” Thus, the Anal Fit, Anal Explorer, Anal Escape, Anal Maxima, Anal Avenger… You get the idea. It is a very stupid game. The worst part about it is that, once some eedjit has told you about it, it’s very hard not to indulge in it yourself, even if you don’t want to.