I wish that my bank account or possibilities at world peace or something else equally worthwhile would swell in accordance with my stress and anxiety levels on this trip. Calling it a vacation would be overstating the experience thus far. Day two was...better? --was less explosive than day one. I have been accused of an endless number of shortcomings and told how to correct them. I have been warned of the immanent failure these character flaws will bring to all hopes of a successful future with The Staff Sergeant, who is inconveniently otherwise unacknowledged.

Two summers ago when Dad and I set off for 3000 miles in his suburban, I worried that it would be like pitting two angry dogs against each other, in a tiny ring, to fight to the death. I was pleasantly surprised that we only had one small tiff in Canada over driving tunes. Outside of that secluded incident (due to having almost no taste at all in music and the insistence in his never failing rightness) the trip was great. So when he asked about Savannah and Charleston this summer, I agreed.

It has been trying, to say the least. I found that today flowed much more smoothly after my mint julep at lunch...and then again after my early evening glass of pinot grigio. At some point, on this great disaster of a southern journey, I hope that he finds something other than my grades to be proud of or to agree with or to simply just accept.

Tomorrow we see Charleston.

if only a sigh were loud enough

My muscles pinch and crawl like intolerable little spiders up and down my back, up the length of my neck, around my middle.  I balance in between grabbing for the swimmy-head, stomach tickling anxiety pills and screaming and swinging and unbinding any sense of composure I have ever held myself together with.  

I don't understand why there are times when each single task erupts into odyssey after odyssey.  It's god-damn over-the-phone bill paying.  It is MADE to provide a convenient service!  Charge me ONCE, not twice OR not at all!  It's tracking down the apparently out-of-print book for 19th century lit. that LITERALLY is only housed at the smallest, out-of-the-way-est library known to mankind, and it only took 10 phone calls and an absurd conversation with the 85-year old uninformed campus librarian who could NOT explain to me why the online catalog listed the fucking book as both "available" and "checked-out" before I could lay my twitching, exhausted hands on its cover.  And it's the bionic fleas that refuse to surrender the sweet, tender flesh of my poor, suffering dog, and the vet money I don't have and every cure I've tried [as best as I could].

I meant to tackle backed-up homework, though the universe clearly had other plans.  I spent the day unpuzzling an unexpected Rubiks Tuesday.  A couple of times I considered erasing my notion of maps and to-do's and driving aimlessly forever, but I settled on cooking my woes into oblivion.  I checked-out the book, had treated the dog with prescriptions and unearthed an intricate grocery list from the bowels of my purse.  I wandered until I found myself parked in a grand Kroger lot.  With eco-friendly shopping bags and wallet in hand, I entered the automatic gates of Salvation.  Ripe palettes of produce, chirping lasers kissing barcodes, panes of frozen aisles, warm yeasty shelves of bread; I love this pocket of life better than the hilarity of the world at large.  With my blue bag brimming full of dairies and veggies and tubes of dough, I caught myself before making my way to the finish-line cash register.  Hard cider and less of a white-knuckled grip on each angry minute beyond the thick walls of food would feel nice.  Finished, I went to pay.

This is where I picked up [yesterday].  And rising today, full on sleep and drawn by sunshine I started collecting myself, directing myself, finding my Wednesday purpose.  All was well and free of anxious, crawling muscles until I dumped out my purse for re-organizing.  No wallet.  Of fucking course: no wallet.  Because how could a day be whole without the blinding frustration of something amiss!?  And again I want to drive away, uncoil my mind with a pill, fire up the oven or uncork a thick, glass bottle of freedom.  

It's still at Kroger, holding my place in the land of salvation, only I'm miles and miles away, stuck in the here and now.

Out of the Dark

I was sitting in the floor of the not-so-spacious stockroom, yet again recording inventory prices. In truth I was trying not to give into late afternoon sleepiness fueled by post-lunch digestion and my strategic position in front of the toasty little space heater I had childishly lugged along for the task.

11 at $23...

...65 at $32

3 at $22...

And suddenly, only two holes peering through to the outer storefront window were visible. Two eyes askew at the opposite end of the long, narrow space left to guide us out of the darkness into the only slightly less dark belly of the store.

An unexplained blackout had descended upon us, and the street lights, and the gas station across the road, and all other major establishments within a four to five block radius. It was as though we had regressed from 21st century order to third world chaos. It's amazing to me how poorly prepared the civilized masses are for such an occurrence. Treat the stop-lights as four-way-stops? Absolutely not. No access to credit card machines? What will we do? When I arrived at Panera to take advantage of my afternoon's extra hours of freedom they tried to give me my hot tea because they couldn't tender currency. While I dug for exact change the employees succeeded in several charitable pastry donations to others.

Due to the crippling events of the afternoon, we eventually closed up shop and in unison, cut into yesterday's leftover birthday cake...and entertained the possibility of heavy liquor consumption. Really, would there have been a more logical answer than lighting the store's display candles and stuffing our faces with sugary confections? No. We decided to wait on the bourbon. That may be better suited for a more dire affair.

Tuesday

The day began at 4:26am...with a scratching at my bedroom door. Beyond the stronghold of my lair lingered a canine, fearful of thunder [and lightning]. I tossed and turned and because of his outcries, I also then laid awake bothered by the flicker and rumble of the storm.

Thankfully, sleep befell me once again, and I did not stir until the hour of 8 [90 minutes later than intended]. I awoke with a start, sensing the missed alarm and leaped from my bed to quickly calculate the one hour I had to ready myself for the day.

Shower. [check]

Dogs. [check]

Make-up. [check]

Hair. [check]

I've mentioned the recent trial of parking at school, a true debacle if you will, yet this morning was a circus all it's own. It mirrored the honking and jams of traffic that occur only in a Manhattan rush hour. I yelled and cursed before miraculously, a vacant space appeared [and choirs of angels sang halleluiahs]. I fled the vehicle in a haste spurred by tardiness. Off to class.

Then a college job fair [and more bad traffic] that I might only ever equate to a nightmare of capitalistic proportion. Like Sebold paints the victim's Heaven, my mail order Hell must resemble twenty-somethings herded into clusters of awkward suits and phony grins, and firm handshakes and eye-contact. If given but one wish in this lifetime, I would gamble in every other opportunity to somehow bypass the slimy grip of corporate America.

Yet again, off to class, which preceded a third bought of traffic vexation...[ah, a trend!]

Dinner included a re-indulgence of last night's turkey chili, that like a fine wine only improves with age. I had enough time to eat, check e-mail, and tend to the dogs before embarking on a new adventure: a writing group. We gathered, provided introductions - our purpose and expectations, and mixed the hues of one another's richly colored characters in an hour. It was lovely and motivating and hopeful. It was one more baby-step in the professional direction.

Oh, and I failed to mention the traffic fiasco well underway in the parking lot of our meeting place...when it rains it pours [and it did that all day, too...].

Following the empowerment of writer-speak, I headed directly for Starbucks [which I hear may be incorporating free internet???]. It's where I go to study because it boasts fewer distractions than the zoo of my apartment. I chatted briefly with the Staff Sergeant, then not-so-briefly with Dad. Between phone calls I swallowed excruciating doses of strategic management in preparation for tomorrow's test. I'm praying that the televised meteorologists mean blizzard when they say flurries are in tonight's forecast. I could really use a whole day spent snuggled between the covers, free of obligation...but I won't be holding my breath.

And that, my friends, was Tuesday.