emma b. says

Wednesday, February 09, 2011

Plus ca change

So I missed my flight, after a long night of drinking with my ex-husband's best friend.

That was weird and good, I guess, mostly.

So on the phone with the airline, after texting the Most Organized Person in the World, who texted back that she just spit up half her beer, it was nine. AM. Their time. I flew first class to Cabo San Lucas for a week. It was the best week, ever. It's a tale for another time, it's long and tangential, but if you are fortunate enough to be beloved and be beloved amongst your beloveds, please don't miss it, come hell or highwater, jump that flight, drink champagne, then mix some drinks, lay out, talk and talk, talk and talk, watch for whales, beneficent, talk until the tequila runs out, then talk some more, get tan, fall in love with your old friends all over again.

So then you disembark, radiating sunshine and a week with eight girls (women, I guess) and you cab home through the dismal weather of the Pacific Northwest, and you go back to work, resynch that stupid clock and continue on until Friday. When something is notably amiss, as in who is that girl? Whose rabbit hole did I just fall into, am I fired, what the fuck?

I was sitting in a meeting planning our summer picnic when the axe I was anticipating fell.

Let go. "we really like you."

The day before the winter party that I had planned, I was disinvited. That stung, a lot.

So all that good vacation like so much wasted ether out the window. And then what, and then precisely what, what to do, where to go, what now? For god's sake what now.

I am four months shy of turning forty, which is not all that momentous, seems like I ought to seize or at the very least grapple something or someone, just for the moment, whatever that might be. Pinion, that's a good word.

I got good and stuck, I've been good and stuck, come'on then, unstick me me, up where, up where we'll ride and rein the clouds, slip past Nertiti and her long neck, up to the stars, as hungy as they are, hungry and blythe.

How many dragon teeth or olyphant ivory would I trade for a pair of strong arms, a million or so, if only I believed that such a thing were real.


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