California, I'm Yours
I'm not partial to Martini's, but I'm also not partial to flying, or spending the holidays with my mother. The waitress eyes me as she hands me my second Martini (do Appletinis even count?). It's five a.m. she says, as if I'm not aware that I had to drag myself to the airport at such an unglody hour. Yes, it is. Can I have my drink please? I'm a seasoned day drinker, judgement melts off of me like expectations of having a productive day.
Fucking monkeys isn't something I thought I would yell (loudly, inbetween cocktails) at an airport. This game is particularly infuriating, and I'm not sure whether it's not sleeping for 48 hours, the budding fever, or the nerves from getting on the plane that has my fist clenching at these computerized gorillas. I will outrun you, and I'm going to earn enough gold to buy my little man a hat. It's the least he deserves.
Boarding begins in half an hour and then it's back to New York City. Nothing says home like the feeling of dread. Maybe it really is time I move away from the city. Why do I have a sinking feeling that I'm still going to meet with my relator tomorrow night?
I made out with a married man, that's far too young to be married. Once the cinnamon whiskey (it likes like Christmas, and while I don't like cinnamon, it reminded me of family and warmth and a damn good time). He wasn't married at the time, not until my friend showed me his facebook profile. And honestly, is that how people do things now? I have enough sense that should anyone look me up on facebook, they will probably think that I'm a Polar Bear.
I didn't write, but I never write (God, how do I made myself write), and I also started a bar fight (apparently), found out my aunt is a professioal shop lifter, didn't buy a pack of cheap cigarettes, addmitted a crush, and didn't regret phone calls. I listened to seals and smelled the sea, and didn't complain about the tourists. It was nice.
I actually spoke to my mother. She told me about running around fields- naked. And stealing her neighbor's horse. She told me about the man she fell in love with after she married my dad (they were different times in Poland, you didn't get married for love - but I'm not sure you do these days either), and I saw myself in her eyes.
It was the closest I have felt like 'belonging' and not belonging, but that's always been my issue.
*wrote this before my flight to Califonia, and before my flight back to the city.