To be a citizen of the world

I've traveled a little bit in my day.  I wouldn't call myself a world traveler, having never been out of the Western Hemisphere until recently, but I CAN say this...I know enough Spanish to get by south of the border.  I totally dig the culture of the Carribbean.  I love Frisco, and New Orleans, parts of Texas aren't too bad.  New Mexico is beautiful if you look at it right. Chicago had great pizza.  You never beat a good Rockie Dog at Coors Field.  Its been a very sheltered sort of travel.

There's something about new places that change you, though.  I don't care if its a river 25 miles from home you never swam in or a mountain you never climbed before.  Its an experience that leaves you changed.  Even if its in some teeny, tiny way.

There's something about every new adventure in life that grabs you by the throat, and if you're lucky, the heart.

Even in familiar places there always seems to be a tree you failed to notice, or a person you haven't met yet.  And, the beauty and wonder of getting lost in a place is that you never know what is going to happen.  Except when you're on vacation, or in search of an adventure, then the unknown doesn't seem to haunt you.  You hunt it like a jealous spouse that just found her lover's car at the bar-floozies house by stalking her on Google Earth.

I'm a control freak and a creature of habit.  I park in the same parking spot EVERYDAY...if that red Honda is in my spot when I get to work, it ruins my day.  Seriously.  I'm screwed up seven ways from Sunday.

This bitches ducks walk in a row, in the same order, every day. Consistency is security, and as messed up as it is, I've found myself in unstable places, just for consistency's sake.

I leave the house before 4:55 because if I don't, it doesn't give me time to get a soda before the train hits, and I can't sit and wait and have to drive two blocks to the underpass...on a good day I cuss, on a bad one, it about sends me into a nervous breakdown.  The coaster on the desk goes two pen lengths from the printer, and if you dare touch my zen sand art, that in a stressed out moment--caused by something like noticing I ironed my pants wrong and have double pleats and now can't stand it if anyone looks, or maybe I was out of facial scrub--which I painstakingly spent a half hour calming down by making the lines perfect in that liitle garden on the file cabinet, I'll be pretty sure I'm gonna need medication.

I'm crazy like that.  For example, other people's hair FREAKS me out.  Some guy on the bus in China passed out next to me and his hair kept touching me.  I washed everything on my body at least five times.  Throw me in a muddy puddle to catch frogs, though, and I don't seem to care about contracting a brain sucking amoeba.

I get it. I'm weird.

This shy girl from Podunk, Idaho, the one scared to say three words for 20 years of her life, had a mid-life at 25, spent a few years drunk dragging a snowboard across 7 Western states, met some really cool people, and one day just decided to put it away, get her shit together, and not look back.  Somewhere along the way, I realized I had vocal chords and a mouth, and sometimes, my brain doesn't do a very good job of filtering and I know it would probably be better if the pendulum swung a little further back to the shyer side.

But, for a while, its been pretty mellow.  I have my routine.  So, whatever it was that made me decide China was the place to go--I mean REALLY! Unknown people have always kind of freaked me out (I get that from half of my relatives, most of whom have never been out of the shadow of the Big Butte)--I have no clue.  I just always wanted to go, and sometimes, I just get a wild hair up my ass and decide to do crazy shit.  Like bungee jump when I'm absolutely terrified of heights, or drive in rush hour through the south side of Chicago (that was a big one; I grew up in a town without a stop light or a four way stop), or hit Market Street in the middle of the night just because Jack Kerouac did it, or go balls to the wall off the Head Wall on a powder day and break my wrist.

It doesn't always end well.  Most of the time, it does...aside from some broken limbs and that dread lock fiasco that ruined my hair for a while.  Or the black hair...that one was bad too.  Aunt Beryl told me she wouldn't be caught dead on the shitter at the ranch with hair like that.

So, why I ever decided to run away 5,000 miles across the planet, travel around with my sister, in a country I can't even begin to speak the language or even read a single character of the written language with one and a half BILLION people, still makes me wonder.  But, I did it, and I was excited.  Terrified, but excited.

There is something about throwing yourself to the wind, being at the mercy of others, and just letting what happens, happen.  Sometimes, a girls needs a new perspective...on everything.

It took me three days on my little trip to finally get into that mind frame, and it was all brought about by a tiny little girl in Beijing and brought to fruition by another little girl that chased us for a block in Xi'an.  Well, them and everything that happened in between and before I left.

I was eating a duck brain in a fancy-schmancy peking duck restaurant in Beijing.  A little girl at a table full of about 15 family members was waving at us in between shots of soda with her grandma.  Every one else at their table was shouting "Gambe!" and downing beers.  It really made the Irish look weak.  We would wave at her and she would look at her Nan, shout "Gambe," and her and the grannie would take a shot of soda.  Grannie would pinch her face like it was the nastiest moon shine ever, blow out like it burned, and they'd laugh and laugh. Then she'd wave and smile.

Nik and I couldn't say enough in Chinese to even order food or talk to a cab driver.  We had to point at the menu and say "Chigga" which means this, because we just couldn't say "Nigga" which means "that", without Mom and Dad haunting our subconscience.  But, Nikki was saying something to me as I was folding a duck taco, and i looked over and saw the little girl standing by her elbow.  Her whole family had cameras at the ready.  She stuck her hand out and gave Nikki five.  The restaurant erupted into cheers and the flashes were blinding.  I don't think I have ever smiled that hard in all of my life.  She looked at us and said, "Welcome to China!"  Then threw up peace signs and so did Nikki.  Even more pictures and applause.

I think the thing that amazed me most, is here we were, in the middle of the country, unable to communicate anything except, "I would like a bottle of beer," and "hello," and everyone was telling us welcome.  We're the only people around with light skin and hair, and they are fascinated and friendly. When they left, they all came by our table and said goodbye...in English.

As I was laying in bed that night, I started thinking about the last three days, and the three before I left.  How crazy life gets sometimes, and how scared we sometimes are to let it happen.  I thought of all the times I've heard people rant, "Its America, we speak English."  And how they frown on anything foreign or different, instead of realizing our similarities. How we expect everyone to be like us.  We have big egos, us in the West, when we could really learn a lot.

 We're all thrown into this great big place and expected to survive and learn as we go.  I've become a firm believer that everyone should feel vulnerable, should, at some point, depend on the kindness of others to get you through.  I think everyone should know what it feels like to be a minority...to feel utterly and completely lost only to discover there are good and kind people wherever you go.

And, it wasn't China that made me feel lost.  Its been life for the last two years.  Knowing you are some place in life you always wanted to be, but it just doesn't feel right, and you can't put a finger on it, or describe it, or give it words or meaning.  It just builds up in a steaming volcano of misery, getting ready to explode.

We climbed the Great Wall the next day, and I was accosted into pictures with a Grandma and Grandpa that knew about as much English as I do Chinese, less in fact.  They were so excited to see us.  They grabbed us as we descended the wall, with looks of awe and complete and utter excitement to see us. They chattered very fast in Chinese, and showed us their camera.  We posed for pictures, and that Grannie, she just held my hand and smiled the biggest smile I have ever seen in all of my life and patted my arm, constantly, for about 7 pictures.  All I could do was laugh right along with them.I felt so different, but it wasn't a bad different.  Of all the places I've traveled outside of the states, I've never met better ambassadors for a country than I have in China, and I never felt more welcome...despite the stares.

We boarded the train for Xi'an the next evening, and I don't even have words to describe what it was like.  We couldn't move, at all.  More people in one train car than the whole county I grew up in.  I wish that were an exaggeration, because its just something you have to experience, I could describe it, but it is completely unbelievable unless you were there. Nikki and I, thinking we had won the freaking lottery scoring those train tickets, only to be thrown into the middle of complete and utter chaos.  We honestly thought, in seven stops, people would get off....they just kept getting on. And, at the end, they were pulling bicycles out of the crevices of the train.

We sat across from a man and his son who spoke a little bit of English.  In China, they call the U.S., 'The Beautiful Country."  I told him, yes, it is beautiful and changed my camera card to show him pictures of the Salmon River, The Lost River Valley, a rodeo in Dubois.  He pulled out his laptop and we watched "Transformers" and "Fast and the Furious"...with Chinese subtitles.  "American Movies," He said all excited when he put them in.  I noticed it finally got quiet and looked up to about 50 people gathered around us watching and smiling.

Before this, Nikki and I had been more than slightly freaked out.  We tried to upgrade and the conductor shot us down like a flaming Hindenburg. I tried to go to the bathroom, took one look at it and decided no more water.  Then I just decided I had to laugh at the craziness of it all.  Me and my sister.  Here.  In this place.  Alone.  Not even sure at first if we were on the right damn train.  Then I imagined my mother trying to use that bathroom and I laughed until I cried.  People hacking up loogies and spitting on the floor.  Kids in the train station defecating on the floor.  The noise...all of it.  And I would just get lost in a hilarity of tears.  Happy tears.  This is life.  REAL life.  How REAL people live, and I wouldn't change that experience for the world.

This nice man, at the end of the trip, handed me his business card, and said, "Welcome to Xi'an.  I'm a man of integrity.  If you get in trouble or need help, my number is there."  You could tell he was sincere, and he looked at both of us, and I saw worry.

He had a right to worry.  There isn't even a sign in pinyin, once you get to Xi'an.  We had the lady at the hotel in Beijing write the address for the hotel in Xi'an on a piece of paper so we could get a cab.  There was no hope of a cab.  So we walked.  For about an hour.  Got followed for a long ways by a guy who we finally had to turn around and give the evil eye to.  People here stared even worse than any other place.  They would be walking down the street, look up in shock and point. Stand and stair.

We got on the bus the next morning to go see the terra cotta warriors.  There were only a few seats left, and a group of teenagers sat near us.  The boy nearest the aisle started talking to me, but it soon became obvious the girl next to me spoke better English.  They asked where were going, seemed thrilled I knew who Chairman Mao was and that I knew of the Long March.  The young man kept asking me if I knew someone, but I couldn't get the name.  He put it in his phone, and showed me the translation.  "Do you know Jesus?" it said, and he showed me the cross around his neck.

"Yes, I know Jesus."  I said.  "I usually wear one, too."  He gave me a huge grin.  They all seem to smile so big, once they have a reason.

We found ourselves walking again. Another little girl looked up, and yellled, "HELLLLOOOO!" at us.  We smiled and said, "Hello," back. She giggled and laughed and hooped and hollered and starting skipping down the street. I'm smiling again, in awe. I don't know that I have ever seen someone so happy to see me, let alone a stranger.

A block later she came running up behind us, jumped in front and made us stop. She was out of breath, having chased us a ways. She gave us a great big smile and said, "Welcome to China!!"

In these three days, I discovered the happiest and most memorable moments in life happen when you have no idea what is going to happen next.  You see poverty and desperation, but people are happy.  You find good people, with good hearts, when you feel most vulnerable.

Perhaps its feeling vulnerable that awakens the senses to the kindness that really lies all around us.  Maybe its just knowing, no matter how hard you try, you can't control what life brings you, so you see what is great in the tiniest moments.  You discover that happiness lies, not in what you have, or the security you think you have, but in tiny smiles, great moments in humanity when others reach out and truly are happy to see you.  Its letting go, skipping down the street, running in the rain.

Its showing kindness to people who owe you nothing, have nothing to give you but a smile and the consolation that no matter where you are, how lost you feel, they can make you feel special. Its letting go, and letting life happen.

I wonder if they see the poverty in me...the poverty of a judgemental soul, the poverty of never being able to live in the moment, and maybe, just maybe, this is they're offering to a different kind of beggar walking the street.

We all have a lot to learn about being ambassadors for humanity...after all, no matter how much we deny it, we are...citizens of the same world.

I'm supposed to tell you something profound about Beijing.  Ain't got shit to say.  Wrong subway terminal, walked too far, got lost, laughed, guy tried to shake us down in a hutong but we're smart bitches. Little girl waves, we wave, she comes over, welcomes us to China to applause and photos and Im' sure I'm in five generations of photos. Ate duck brain/

Trying to get train tickets to Badaling was the most exciting thing ever.  Six white people...blind following the blind.  Hilarious after we all got to the wall and had to take pics of each other, because for some fucked up reason, we all decided to climb the same section, when we had no idea where the hell we were going. Seriously, I'm in the terminal trying to match characters and we all kind of give each other a shrug that says, "We're fucked anyway...run with it."

 Grandmas grab me and want pictures, but I have to throw peace signs as they pat my hand and smile and say shit I don't understand.  Tee me do, is all I can utter as they hold me tight and laugh.

Seriously, we were so damn lost, I was thinking "I'm this close and I'm gonna miss the great wall."  This happens because the effin subway lists ONE train station.  One, and in all reality, Beijing has about five.

We won the lottery and have tickets to Xi'an...if we can get back from the wall in time.  Half the day was spent trying to find the train, and Nik is seriously OUT of control.

We make it, then she says we have to catch some bus to the Beijing Xi station.  Means west train station.  Everyone fails to let us know this is the most popular train in China.

We are running.  Some drunk guy screams, "And, FUCK YOU!!" at Nikki.  I laugh, 'cause I'm pretty sure its the only english he's ever learned.  she turns and gives him two middles.  She's telling me we have an hour, but when we get there, after watching kids shit on the floor...seriously, shit,  take a few steps let mom clean it up and shit again, I tell her the train is boarding.  she realizes I'm right, and they send us to car six.

I don't know it at the time...but I am about to enter the trippiest experience of my life. I thought pooping on the floor was wild. Education coming to a chair near you

day two

Its 4:00 in the morning, and I'm pretty sure I have dysentery.  On a normal occassion, this would be cause for fear.  Given my current situation, though, holding cheeks together takes my mind off other "shit."  I'm supposed to go with my sister to visit some Buddhist temples today, but all I can think about is the lack of toilet paper and thank the virgin for giving me enough foresight to buy travel packets of toilet paper.

The hangover headache is gone, but I'm pretty sure its appendicitis or something and they told me to avoid the hospital. I crouch in a fetal position and try not to moan.

I worked with a lady back in the day who told me never to make any decision unless three days had passed...something about Christ taking three days to be resurrected.  I need a resurrection, God, how I do.

 I gave myself a few days and decided after three days on vacation, I'd be good to go.  I'm on day two, and can't decide whether to puke or go the other end.  Actually, my gut is in such knots, I don't have time to think about what plagues me...other than the cholera I'm pretty sure I've contacted.  Here's your Zen moment, Jens, it is what is...or as some may put, shit is shit.

I'm tired of shit.  Literally and metaphorically...all the allusions and alliterations.  But. It. Just. Won't. Stop.

Finally it does, and I realize I have slept for well over 14 hours...on a bed harder than your head.  I stumble out, shower, and Nik hands me a subway card.  "Temple," she says.  And it dawns on me how nondescript you get when no one else speaks your language.

I ask her if she knows where to go...kind of.  she knows how to find crepes, so we go back to the international district and eat crepes and goat cheese.  Have a mojito...actually two.  Then subway.

"Jens," She says.  "There are a lot beggars at the temples."  She's telling me this because she knows I'll get all broken hearted and give them everything.  "Don't."

I'm shocked when we get there.  I've read Karl Marx.  I get the gist of communism and homeless is NOT something acknowledged in that philosophy.  Open, weeping wounds.  They cover their head, having lost face.  Cripples, hunched over, people that actually CANNOT work.  A welfare state?  This isn't a welfare state.  These are the people that need socialism and they are left, without a face to show, begging on the street.  Handicapped.  They can't contribute, so there is no help.  My guts wrenches and it isn't the dystentery.

This whole thing started out as a spiritual retreat for me.  I was supposed to go to Lhasa, but they're immolating themselves and the boarder is closed.  So, I just have to meditate in communist approved places. Try as I might to overcome the indoctrination and rely on what I really  know, it isn't the same.  I light my incense and bow east.  I'm supposed to do all four directions, but home is east, and home, I realize, is where we help each other.  I pray to the east.

I see the most amazing buddha ever, and Nik says, "Jen, its ok to pray."

And in that moment, remembering the hunchback on the street, with his face shrouded, legs that wont work, open wounds, wearing a diaper (and the kids in China don't wear diapers, they shit wherever, not kidding), I realize I don't need to pray.  I need to give thanks.

I bow to the Buddha and give thanks to all that is holy, that despite my hard times, and what I think is tough, I am already VERY, VERY blessed.

I give thanks to clean air, and stars, and water, and by god, FOOD. I give thanks for TWO babies...sure, they make me want to drink half the time, but I get TWO.

I remember the noodles, dumplings, and beer yesterday, and how it cost about $10 for three of us.  Cheap, cheap, cheap.  Then you remember these people, most of them, live on $200 a month.

I bow deeper to the east, leave 100 rmb in the drum and walk away to catch the train to Beijing.  A first class train, and I feel so guilty.

Shanghai Hangover

One thing you never forget about a Chinese hangover is that you can't drink the water. Nikki woke me up at 6:00 in the morning.  I stare up at the teak ceiling, thinking, this is no way to start a vacation.  I've had five hours sleep in two days.

"Jens!  Get up!" she says, "We need food!"

My tongue feels huge.  I'm pretty sure my head is going to explode, and I can still taste the 52% alcohol.  I blink and it feels like my eyes are bleeding. I try to peel my tongue from the roof of my mouth.  "WATER," I manage to get out in a hoarse voice, but I don't want to get up to get it.

Nikki hands me a warm beer from the night before, and I swallow back a gag, turning up my nose and shaking my head.  It hurts to move my head, so I cradle it in my hands, covering my eyes.  "What the HELL!?"  I manage to get out after a few minutes.  "Don't you sleep?"

"Can't," she mutters and shakes me.  "Get up!  I need food!"

"I need sleep!" and I try to roll over, covering my head with blankets.

Nik pulls them off.  "UP!"  she says, and somehow, I manage to get into an upright position.

"Jesus ever lovin!" I cry.  "Fine," and somehow I stumble to the bathroom. I wobble on the way and realize I'm still drunk.  I sit on the toilet, holding my head in my hands and feel like I could die, but am more scared I might actually live to sobriety and know the hangover is going to be brutal.

I manage to brush my teeth, which makes me feel slightly better even though I am fighting heaves.  "Gambe my ass!"  is all I can think the whole time. 

We stumble down the stairs to the water cooler, its five gallons and half empty.  There isn't enough water to save me.  I down three glasses; glasses that take way too long to fill.  "Where can a girl get a bloody mary?" I ask Nik.

She looks at Dave and he says something about a camel.  We walk out the door and it hits me like a ton of bricks, taking my breath away.

Its 6:00 in the morning and already 90 degrees.  The humidity is so thick it feels like you could cut the air.  My skin gets sticky, but my mouth is still dry.  My tongues wants to stay glued to the roof of my mouth.  I'm pretty sure I look as bad as I feel.

We have to walk out of the gated community and I'm pretty sure I am sweating 52% alcohol.  Why a person agrees to drink that shit eludes me.  I want to shake my head, but it hurts too bad.  I don't realize it at the time, but there is silence all around me and it will be the last time that happens in China.  We walk to the main road to hail a cab and there is no traffic...a few scooters is all.  Again, this is an oddity I don't realize on my first day.

We hail a cab and make it to The Camel.  I down one bloody mary, order waffles, and try to drink a glass of cold water.  The water tastes like sweat, so I can't drink it.  My waffles turn out to be two ham and cheese croissants, which I'm told to savor, cheese being hard to get here.  Nothing tastes good, so I just have another bloody mary, trying to stave off the worst of the hangover I know is coming. 

I light a cigarette, but it makes me heave so I put it out.  I stare at two white people in the back of the bar.  They're making out and I wonder if they've made it to bed at all.

We walk down empty, tree lined streets.  A lady sweeps with a broom made from tree branches.  I feel like I'm drowning in the humidity and it dawns on me that evven buldings sweat in Shanghai.  I put one foot in front of the other, and it takes a lot of effort.  I want to go back to bed.

We make it back to that huge house, the dogs bark and I'm afraid we're gonna wake the maid.  I trudge up three flights of stairs and fall back into bed.  Just as I'm about asleep, Nikki, comes back in.  "Get your stuff," she says.  "We're going back to the apartment and you have to check in at the police station."

We take a cab.  We pass the Pearl Tower and the Bund.  The elevator makes my stomach turn. 

I shower.  Sit in front of the air conditioner.  I drink a beer because, again, no water.  I stair at the wall, still in disbelief I'm in China.  Dave has us tickets to Beijing on the train tomorrow.  Soft sleeper and I realize I'm kinda scared to sleep with people I have yet to meet.

I find myself in the heat again.  Surrounded by people, walking packed streets, horns blaring, I trudge to the police station.  I follow Dave and realize I have no idea which direction we are headed, how far we have gone, or where we turned.  Did we turn?  Every step presents a new smell.

Someone is cooking garlic.  Another step and I'm pretty sure that's  a sewer I smell.  Another and its curry.  Another, and I actually gag.  A lady is cooking on a grill set on the street.  I gag again, water fills my eyes.  Dave looks back at me, "Stinky tofu," He says.

Stinky doesn't even begin to cover it.  I'm pretty sure that if someone sat that on a table in front of me, I'd lose my lunch, even without the worst hangover I've ever had in my life. I'm pretty sure now, I'm gonna puke, right in the middle of the street.  I swallow, hard, and fight the gagging reflex.  I don't think those bloody marries are gonna be good a second time, so I just keep walking.

Its three now, and I have exactly one hour to make it to the police station before my 24 hours are up.  We walk into the police station and everyone stops everything to stare.  A lady police officer shouts something in Chinese and points us to the corner.  I look at Dave, he shrugs like he has no idea, so we sit where she points.  I notice water in the corner, and down five glasses.

A lady appears behind the glass where we sit.  She says something neither of us understands, so I shrug and hand her my passport and a slip of paper with Dave and Nikki's address on it.  We're out of the International District now, in the university part of town where Nikki and Dave live.  Tourists don't make it here, and we're the only white people I've seen in hours.  This isn't a sleepy part of town like we just left.  Its obvious the police lady has no idea how to fill out my papers.  She calls someone and another officer appears.  She tries asking us questions, Dave can't understand either, so we just shrug.

She's lecturing now, pointing at the clock, and I sense she's letting me know I shouldn't have waited so long.  I shrug again and hold my hands up.  "Tee me no," Dave says to her.  It means "I don't know," and she rolls her eyes in frustration, an expression I'll become very familiar with over the next couple of weeks whenever I repeat that phrase.

She's trying to fill out papers with the help she called, and its taking forever.  I'm getting nervous.  I don't like police stations, and I have this dreaded fear they're gonna haul me in the back and harvest a kidney...I watch too much "Locked Up Abroad."

She hands me a piece of paper with my passport and points to the door.  I think she just kicked us out. 

We make it back to the apartment, past the stinky tofu again, and the elevator makes my ears pop.  I can't think about how high I am in that elevator without getting sick all over again.  This hangover refuses to die.

My first day in China and my head still hurts, my tongue still sticks in my mouth like a lump of cotton, and all I can think is, "I never should have came."

I skype the hubs and kids, cry more than a few tears, and fall into bed right after dinner...at 6:00.  I'm pretty sure, as I shut the bedroom door, I've never been this tired before. 

Nikki says we're going to some temples tomorrow, before we get on the train to Beijing.  I try like hell to muster some Zen and just accept everything, try to forget home, try to remember this is the moment of a lifetime, but I cry myself to sleep.

head ache like no head ache ever.Nik looking at me.  Fine.  I'll get up. Really noodle? Yes, wakey wakey.  I just want to cry, but she has a way of letting me know; lets me know all is fine.

Walk. I want to sleep. I order a bloody mary and waffles.  I get bloody mary and two ham and cheese croissaunts.  All I want is water, bing tastes like shit.

She says to Dave, don't think her sister would like first class stuff.

Nope.  Sis hates it. 


\Jens wants REAL china...oh mother of god here we go

I can have a dd

I made it to Shanghai.  Sister was late, but i cried again when I saw her.  I have missed her so much...telling me, so wise, just how it is.

I've missed my sister more than just about anything.  I can tell her anything...which is nuts considering she's 13 years younger and decades wiser.  She puts me at ease. 

She's late and I'm wandering the airport looking for money exchange.  when she gets there, i look right, and there it is.  We ride the MegLev and she tells me she found a killer place to stay in the international district...where I can have a decent bed.  I didn't get any money.

I don't want a bed.  I want to get lost.  In a country of 1.4 billion people, I expect to get lost. 
We go back to the house with a maid.  I'm not comfy in this place.  The maid waits up for you...like mom...except Mom never dealt with Bei Zhou.

WE were hamered.  Listened to bands playing American bands that we couldn't name.  Smoke double happiness.  I need water.

Can't drink the water in China.

Call home.  For the first time ever, he misses me.

Its two in the morning and I'm supposed to catch a plane to China in three hours.  Normally, this would be a no big deal.  I've travelled a lot.  But, for the last four days, since my husband announced to me he quit his job, I've been puking my guts out and have shit myself dry.  I guess I should have seen it coming, but nope...denial rears its ugly head.  That bitch karma is slapping me in the face.  All I can do is hug the toilet and simmer in the boiling anger that I wasn't included in this decision.  I really want to kick him in the balls, but there is also a part of me that says, "You saw this coming.  You planned this.  You said, one day, it would be fine." 

I don't feel fine.  In fact, I feel like shit.  I grab the toilet and heave.  Telling myself we're fine, and really we are, but its a big decision, realising after ten years of marriage just exactly how much on the whim of someone else you teeter on the edge. Actually, I lie in that sentence.  Because, I have always, since the second time I said I do, let it be known, I'm my own person. Didn't even change my name for five years.   It just now dawns on me how much of a reality I denied and I spew bile again.  Sick.  I am physically sick. 

Brian wakes up and comes in the bathroom.  "Why are you up?"  He's been so nice since it all happened....which makes it harder, because I want to be mad. I want to spew the vitriol he did every day while that job ate away at his soul. I want to rage, but I hold it in...as much as I can until it wrenches my gut and I grab the ceramic again. 

I heave and heave, "'Cause I'm SICK!"  I say, but really want to scream.  He thinks I'm nervous to travel.  "You've been all over.  You'll be fine!"

I'm not fucking fine.  I slam a grand in savings every month, my kids go to private school, and you're telling me I have to go back to the THING I worked my ass off to get out of.  Friends hate us.  Won't speak to us.  I want to scream.  I've known its all your world and we just happen to be a part of it, but it sucks.  Ten years and I don't even get a heads up.  I'm mad, but I shouldn't be.

I try to find empathy and compassion.  In all of my life, those are the things I have relied on.  I pray to the virgin and lean on hope.  I'm terrified.  I don't understand any of it; making a decision without thinking of anyone else. I'm a control FREAK and I'm supposed to leave the country in 2 hours.  I heave again as I try to get up off the floor.

I saved enough for the trip and got a loan to finish the house.  I'm telling myself and him I should just stay home.  He won't have it hanging over his head.  All I can think is, 'You couldn't wait two weeks?" Two effing weeks?

I'm so mad, I've called a cab. He wasn't honest that weekend away. Betrayal, crosses my mind.  "I'll have the house done when you get back," he says.

I run back to the bathroom.  I close the door and sit on the floor and bury my hands in my face. 

There were two roads leading out of the town I grew up in.  I took the first one out...after reading the consequences.  Granted, I came back, on conditions...most of which were his.  I can't leave.  I can't do this.  Over and over and over.  Sacrifices.  I want to scream at him, "Do you KNOW where we (read 'I' )could be without your mother effin' commitments you just threw away?"

I want to SCREAM....scream, "Do you have ANY idea what I gave up?  What  I could have done?"

But, I don't.  I puke again.

I send the cab away.  Back to the bathroom.  Bile.  Anger.  Bitterness.  I stayed for you.  You don't even give two thoughts to me.  Bitter.  Not even with the sweet.

I load the suitcase and he askes if I'm alright.  One block and he has to pull over.... so I can puke again...in the middle of John Adams Blvd.

He's mad, angry...everything that has been the last 7 years. Words from his mouth have more bile than my gut.  I look up in the middle of a gag and finally find the balls to say, "This isn't me.  Not my fault.  I know you did it for me, but stop.  Enough.  I've dealt with this for years.  You're done, please let me be.  It isn't my fault." And it hits me, really, it isn't. 

I didn't make those decisions.  Never did.  It isn't my fault.

I get on the plane and cry to Shanghai.  For 22 hours I sob. 

The girl next to me on the flight to Denver asks if I'm alright...when we land.

I eat goat cheese ravioli in Vancouver and a lady comes over and tells me to have a better day.

The young boy on the plane to Shanghai looks at my tears and tells me they clean the soul.

I sob when I see my sister.  Dave says no tears so I stop.


The Naked And Famous – Punching In A Dream