Oh, She’ll Figure it out

1

Needless to say I did not sleep well…

2 long days of anger, frustration, and utter disappointment. Managed to resolve a couple of issues and was looking forward to a proposition of solace. But the proposition bailed, and I went to sleep once again angry, frustrated, and utterly disappointed. I went to sleep in a place I did not want to be.

I know I was dreaming, but don’t remember the first 2. Just that I woke up screaming twice. The first time, I screamed “GEEEEEET OOOOUUUUUT!”, the second “STOOOOOP!”

…The 3rd one I remember to, to well…

I was bound, gagged and shackled, then beaten by every person I knew that I let within 2 steps of me. I was dragged by a chain around my neck to a cave with a shallow pit. My best friend said to me; “You don’t understand what really matters. I only want you to be happy.” Then proceeded to throw me into the pit in the cave. My boyfriend looks over the edge and says that he’s going to chill out on YouTube. People  start gathering in front of the cave. “Oh, she’ll figure it out.”  They tell each other; “So just push the button” …

There was and explosion and the walls cave in …

I woke up kicking and punching the walls of my room …

I Should Have Known … But I Guess I Did …

So I wrote this some time in 2012 I suspect. September maybe? It was titled “An Email To My Husband”. I lost it somewhere deep in the RAM or ROM of the Apple. I vaguely remember leaving it by the worm eating the bug with all the bites. It’s odd reading it. Especially now that the parchments have been delivered by carrier pigeon to the demigods ordained by the immaculate rubber stamp.  I Should Have Known … But I Guess I Did …

This isn’t a “Dear John” letter. You’re names’ not john. … Ha, ha … I know, it’s stupid. I still got a giggle out of it though.

I know that you hate long emails. I’ve tried to talk to you but … *sigh* … you did what you always do. You want the “short version”, you grump and look very annoyed, you do the “speed it up” hand gesture, I get flustered, I try to put it in a nutshell , but I end up leaving out the important points and reasons … you jump to conclusions, and make assumptions, with the end result of you being frustrated, & angry. So I quit and obsess silently over how can I tell you so that you will understand where I’m coming from.

…That’s if we get that far. Maybe it’s because I ask? “Can we talk about this?” The hackles go up and the eyes roll. I did try a few time to just start talking about it all, but stopped when you yelled at the computer. You accidentally put yourself in check on your internet chess game. … There was one time I though I was getting somewhere, but you were staring at the computer, so I said that there was man phuc’ing a poodle out on Grand Parade. … You nodded and said “Uh-huh.”

I know that I ramble, even babble. –  I’m long winded. I want to explain, with reason. I want to have a conversation, meaning you talk too. But I don’t know how to do this with you … *sigh* … We’re broken, and I don’t know what to do …

I knew something was off that Thanksgiving so long ago. We’ve been dating for 10 months. The longest relationship you’ve had since, and you tell me that you’re going to spend Thanksgiving with your friend and her family ‘cos that’s what you always do. I was hurt and upset and I couldn’t seem to explain to you that I was. I tried to understand, but why you didn’t want to spend Thanksgiving with your girlfriend? We ended up spending the day together, but to this day I still wonder if it wasn’t because she didn’t invite you, because she knew about me.

We’ve always been very independent from each other. We weren’t “in each others pockets” as the Irish would say … or at least that’s what they say here in Cork. I reveled in the freedom, even gloated how enlightened we were not to  be bound together with rules or ultimatums. But there was always something amiss. I found myself alone more often than not. Even in times of celebration, esp. in times of celebrating my achievements albeit small. … You never danced with me … Gosh, how I miss dancing … I justified it my head, said it over and over again until it rolled of my tongue as easily as the rain rolling off leaves. “Although I would like him to be more attentive, I can’t deny the independence and freedom that I have.” … Repeat … Repeat  … Repeat … *Sigh* …

We chased a dream together, so I thought, moved to Ireland and started a business, got married … got married …

Then, not more than a year or so later, there was mutiny, a disturbance in the force, and our business was caught in the middle. We were bullied, brutally bullied. Money was so, so tight largely because of your condo that you for some reason wouldn’t let go of. You did put it up on the market but did nothing to sell it. You had to barrow money from your parents to keep up the mortgage payments. There was not a light at the end of the tunnel, there was no tunnel, not to mention the growing black mold in the our rented hovel. It stands to reason that you would spiral down into a deep depression and despise everything that brought you to that point, including me. I’m not a psychologist or a psychotherapist.  Not a mind reader either, though that would be really cool! I started a new chant “I’ll make it better, I’ll fight the war, I’ll prove that the dream is still alive.” … Repeat … Repeat  … Repeat … *Sigh* …

I was winning! … I am winning … I WON! … While I was in the trenches though, you decided to leave, … not me … just leave.

You went behind my back and contacted your old boss to see if you can get your old job back. You told me that he approached you. You wanted to go back, but you told me that you were torn so I thought there was hope. That if things were better here then the choice would be obvious.  You wanted to leave but you couldn’t tell me that because then, you wouldn’t have anything to fall back on. You strung me along, weaving your safety net. I knew that you wanted to leave but unless you actually say it, I would only be acting on assumption. For 6 months you dragged it out. For 6 months I tried to prove to you that we can still make things work here. Knowing that my efforts were futile, knowing that you were stringing me along, knowing that you wanted to leave … Well, some days …

Well they offered you your old job back and only then did you say to me that you were definitely leaving. Finally we can talk and come up with a plan … finally … finally … We weren’t going to split up, you were going to go back and get your condo and financial dilemmas  sorted and I was going to hold down the fort and make “our” business grow. It was an easy adjustment to make. We had our independence and freedom. We had space and who says that we have to live together to love and support each other? … You were so happy, and it was such a long time since I last saw you happy. … You agreed that you would come back in 3 years, … when you had absolutely no intentions of doing so. Aaahhhhh, who can blame you? I left the back door wide open.

Now we live in 2 different countries on either side of the world, and I find myself alone more often than not. Even in times of celebration, esp. in times of celebrating my achievements albeit small. I find myself chanting that old line; “Although I would like him to be more attentive, I can’t deny the independence and freedom that I have.” … Repeat … Repeat  … Repeat … *Sigh* … But it doesn’t roll of the tongue so easily now. I would have thought with all the ways of staying connected that I would hear more from you. Not a constant stream on Skype watching each other sleep, but something more than and hour on a Sunday ‘coz that’s your “day for calling people”. … I can count how many times you said “I love you” without being prompted on one hand … “Although I would like him to be more attentive, I can’t deny the independence and freedom that I have.” … Repeat … Repeat  … Repeat … *Sigh* …

You still haven’t told your boss that your wife, your wife being me, is still living in Ireland. You told me that you would flip for my plane tix to your Brothers wedding, but you didn’t and I was left telling them that I couldn’t make it. You complained when I asked if I can get on your insurance. I visit you 3x a year, might as well get a Dr appointment in, but it would cost you too much money. You couldn’t even bring yourself to introduce me to your soccer teammates when I last visited. You choked when one of them asked if we were a couple. It was your Brother that did all the introductions, it was my Brother-In-Law that told everyone that I came all the way over from Ireland to watch the game.

I’ve accomplished a lot since you left. I won the war. I made a name for myself and “our” business. I have achieved more than I or anyone could have imagined.  So, in that hour of Skype’ing frenzy I tell you as precisely as I can so to avoid the “speed it up” hand gestures and “in a nutshell” demands. I tell you with all the excitement of a child winning their first race all that I accomplished, all that I’ve achieved in that week. … “Ah yeah, that’s nice.” … I post on that damn Facebook and if I’m lucky I just might get a “like” from you. It makes me sick to my stomach whenever I see a post of a husband praising his wife. … I’m so jealous … You can’t even publicly acknowledge that I’m your wife. I get sicker still when I get a message saying something like “Oh your husband must be really proud of you!” about something that I had achieved that past by you completely unnoticed. I’m completely mortified when I get messages from people questioning your support or even your existence. … “Although I would like him to be more attentive, I can’t deny the independence and freedom that I have.” … Repeat … Repeat  … Repeat … *Sigh* …

Why are you pulling this whole Jeremy McGuire act on me? Except there’s no happy ending with this. Why are blowing me off as if you want to pretend that I didn’t exist?

Serendipitious Noises #16122013

The Bitz & Pieces of Traveling From Ireland to Denver on the 16th of December 2013

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Here I am … I’m waiting to go through security at Cork Airport. Ahead of me is a family, Mom, Dad, and twin boys with long plantinum hair. They couldn’t be anymore than 3 years old. They were very good and put their jackets and mini back packs into the trays. Wide eyed and so very curious they looked around pointing and almost in unison asked “Was dat? Was dat Daddy? Was dat?” Dad answered very politely while herding them through the line. One more person through the metal detector and it was their turn. WAMP! WAMP! WAMP!

“AAAAHHHHHHHHH! DADDYYYY! DADDYYYY HELP! DADDYYYY!”

“LADS! It’s alright! She’s alright!”

“I’m OK! Just forgot to take my hairpins out of my pocket!”

The twins whimpered and held tight one each to Dads legs. Dad tried and tried to pry the twins from his legs to send them through. He’d dislodged one to send him though, but when he went to work on the other, the first would latch back on!  Mom went through in hopes to entice them through, but to no avail. Daddy’s legs were the safest place in the whole world right now and they were going to stay there until the clear and present danger of the metal detector has been eliminated!

People started grumbling, Dad was exhausted, the twins resolve unwavering. Finally Dad through up his arms, he shook his head, put his hands on his hips and  marched through, twins fully attached!  … Silence … A calm fell on the whole of security along with a sigh of relief.

“AGAIN DADDY! DO IT AGAIN!”…

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I’m sitting in a long row of seats in the common waiting area of terminal 3 at London Heathrow silently heming and hawing over whether to spend too much money on a Starbucks Americano. Behind me is a beautiful little girl who was as dark as midnight, with a smile as bright as your most magnificent dream! She played with a delightfully haunting giggle. An elderly  couple laughed and smiled with her. They spoke to her in German. The little darling turned to her mother and asked; “Was dey say?”

“They said they you are a beautiful young girl and will grow up to have a golden spirit!” (Gold Geist)

In front of me there was a young boy, maybe 5 or so? He goes up to a man sitting across from me and asks; ” Why are you wearing a toilet seat?”

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I give in! I go and wait in the long, looooong line and get myself a grande Americano and a maple wafer something or other.  I make my way back to the common waiting area. The place was packed! Holiday travel, who woulddah guessed? In the sea of people, and carry ons, there were two rows of seats 8 seats deep facing each other. In the middle was a young man sitting quietly, hands folded, elbow on his knees. How lucky!? Empty seat with only one person among them. I nearly skipped over and sat in the seat catty corner from the young man.

“Why you sitting there?” asked the young man. I desperately look around me, looking for a sign or something that indicated that I wasn’t allowed to sit there.

“Uhhhh, … are we not allowed?” I asked back

“Ju allowed, but look at me!?” I was confused, I didn’t get it. “… I look like a Mexican drug dealer!”

I looked him over. Beautiful carmel skin. Jet black wavy hair slicked back. Meticulously manicured gotee. Blue plaid flannel shirt button to the top, untucked. Cargo pants. Work boots. Small leather case … “OH MY GAWD! YOU DO!!!” A moment of silence …

“AAHHHHH! HAHAHAHAHA!” We laughed until we cried

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It’s still another hour before my gate opens. I’ve finished my Americano and wafer whatevers. I drift in and out of daydreams. I pulled and all nighter so I was too tired to read or do much else other than sit and stare. A man and three women come by and sat in the empty seats around me. I suspect that they are speaking Holland Dutch. They sounding very much like the Go players I have met from Holland. Well the man started whistling a nice little tune. He seem to stop abruptly when he noticed that I was listening.

“Keep whistling.” I tell him “Nobody whistles anymore. It’s nice to hear!”

“Ah, I don’t vant to be rude.”

That broke the ice per say, and we all started chatting away. I was curious though if I was right in my assumption that they are from Holland. So I ask; “Where are you all from?”

“Ve are from Holland! Can you not tell!?” says one of the women

“Yaw, it is obvious! Ve are all in our 50’s traveling. Ve have very short hair…” says another

“Ve are wearing fleece and comfortable hiking boots!” says the first woman

“Ve are eating cheese …” laughs the 2nd woman

“Ah here see …” the 3rd woman pulls out her carryon “… I have a bright orange suite case!”

“Naw…” Says the first woman “… Zat is because you are a lesbian!”

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My gate was going to open up here in a few minutes, so I start gathering up my stuff. I’m packing my carryon like a Tetris master when a young woman wheeled up an elderly man next to me. She fussed a bit with the basket behind the wheelchair, then sat down across from me. The man put his arm up on the arm rest and there on his arm, a set of tatooed numbers …

I was in shock. I couldn’t even gasp! I was rude, I stared in amazement! What do you say!? What do you!? I couldn’t look away! My heart started pumping in my ears! Did I start to shake? Oh gawd! I don’t know!

He turns and looked at me. Oh gawd! Oh gawd! Oh gawd! He reaches out and puts his hand on my knee. What do I do! What do I do! …

“It’s O.K.” He says softly “It’s real.”

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Too the gate! Down this way, on the metal walking conveyer belt thingy, walking, walking, trip off the metal walking thing! Didn’t fall down! AWsoMe! Turn the corner. NO! Wrong corner. Walk back, turn the other corner. OOoO! Another metal walking converyer belt thingy! I’m walking faster than Cheetahs! 1…2…3… JUMP! Off the metal walking conveyer belt thingy … 9 point landing … or 10 … or … aw hell, A MILLION POINT LANDING! Whoot! Whoot! At the gate! Long, looooooooong line. …. Sit down and wait … Line’s way shorter, get in line behind a raven hair beauty caring a cardboard witches hat with panty hose for ties.

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The line leads into another waiting room before boarding. Another waiting room another need for extra security. Hand the man my passport and bording pass…

“Where are you coming from?”

“Ireland”

“Going back home for the Holidays?’

“No, Ireland’s home, I’m going to visit family.”

“What do you do there?”

The dreaded question. Do I tell him the truth? Tell him that I’m a martial arts instructor and play along with all the ‘OoOooO! Guess we’d better not piss you off!?’ ‘OooOoo! I guess nobody’s gonna hijack this plane!?’, ‘HiiiiiYaaaaah!” … *sigh*… and then go through and extra security search. Or lie …

“Uh … I’m a little shy about saying this … but I ah … I ahhh teach martial arts…”

“Why be shy!? That is GREAT! What do you teach?”

“Uh … Shaaa … Kung … aahh … Shaolin” … I stuttered – was not expecting that.

“Oh! Oh! Hasim over there has taking … Uh … Hasim what did you study? She teaches Shaolin”

I walk along the line and Hasim meets me.  “Wing Chun” he says.

“Yeah! Wing Chun is part of Shaolin! …”

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Hasim and I are having a delightful conversation about Ip man when I come up to the 2nd check before you enter the waiting room. We linger there as we talk about how Bruce Lee took about 2 years of training from Ip man himself.

“Hey! There’s people in line here!” A shrill voice lashed at my spine. Hasim finished his sentence, and I begin a respone but was interrupted with “Hey! I said that there’s people in line here! We’re going to the US!”

I take a deep breath and tell Hasim that I should go a sit and wait for the same plane that everyone in line and in the waiting room is waiting to board. He nods his head and as I look for a seat I hear behind me; “Mrs. McKinlay, please step to the table so that so that your carryons can be searched”

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Because of technical difficulties the flight from London Heathrow to Dallas Ft. Worth was delayed nearly an hour. The fight was routine. Slept a little,  watched the movies … all the movies… terrible movies … I didn’t keep track of the time. When it landed I asked a local what time is was. 6:30pm. Oh, 6:30pm. … Shyte! 6:30pm!?  The gate to my connecting flight closes at 7pm! I’m still on the plane! I still have to claim my luggage and re check it! I still have to go through customs! I still have to go through security!

OKOKOK! I’m off the plane! Wow! They hand me an neon orange tix that says “EXPRESS” on it! In all capitol letters too!  “Do not wait in line! Go to the express line” the staff repeated to us as we raced through the airport! Head of the line at customs! Wooohooo! … Waited forever to claimmy7luggage…, …, …. Got my bag! Head of the line to check it! Head of the line through security! It’s 7pm! The gates closing!  No time to put my boots back on! Run with shoes in hand down the hall, along the metal walking conveyer belt thingy, up the escalators, to the train, the train is leaving, make flying leap onto the train just as the doors close behind me! …

Breathe ….

As I put on my boots I hear from the corner of the car; “Mis-skwak-kee!” Huh? The only time I ever hear anyone call me Mis-skwak-kee was other Native Americans referring to my Sauk & Fox affiliation. I look up from tying my boots and found a man with long pepper hair cascading down his shoulders. Blue denim button up, Levis and a fancy pair of tall “shitkickers”. He was decked out in green turquoise which suggest that he might be Navajo? I looked around to see if maybe he was talking to some one else. Nope. It was me.

“How did you know?”

“Well, you know how we Indians are?”

i smiled and chuckled. My stop came up. “I have to …”

“Go! Go! Catch your plane!”

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The gate was still open when I arrived. Last one on the plane. I settled in and fell asleep. I woke up in Denver, got off the plane, took the train to baggage claim and met up with Gregory …

“So how was your flight?” …