ReRouted

I was supposed to fly to Dublin at 9:50am on Friday August 29th.

Friday was the third anniversary of the big K. It wasn't entirely by accident that I let my departing flight fall on that day.

And then late Thursday night, I was on the phone with my dad, getting ready to start packing and getting ready. I pulled my passport out of its very safe place, and looked at it briefly and froze. It did not expire on my birthday - as drivers' licenses do - but 10 years from the date of issue. May 11th 2008.

After tearful conversations with my dad and poor J- (who called at the right moment to bear the brunt of my sobbing) and Continental, it became clear I was Not, in fact, leaving for this fantastic Hibernian trip the next day.

Instead, 48 hours later I packed everything up, and got everything at least three feet off ground level (thankfully just the front room), and drove outta town. Fleeing Gustav.

There are too many parts of this that are reminiscent and bring back memories and flashbacks and all that. I guess it's good that I am now a veteran evacuator. I know the pitfalls of being exiled from home. I have learned how Not to gain 15 pounds fearing the destruction of my city. Unfortunately, I have discovered that alcohol really does help, while chocolate does not.

After two days in Nashville, I have landed here in the middle-of-nowhere Ohio. Dad and Mi Madrasta are here, so at least I'm with family. Did I mention, however, I am in the middle of nowhere?

This week has run me through the gamut. I was genuinely afraid of what might happen again, and have tried to stay calm until I knew what was happening. No point being devastated over a possibility. And I have been anxious, and started working out the other day and unable to stop. I found the patience to get a manicure and pedicure in a bizarre resort in Opryland, and welcomed back that old familiar Katrina feeling: Guilt.

Because those of us who didn't lose anything, or lose much; we felt guilty. People sent us gifts, showed us great kindness and generosity, and we thought: No, I don't deserve this. There are thousands of others out there who need this more than I do. Send it to them.

And yet, I suppose this is how I got here in the first place. Best Friend J said to me, "If you had been planning this trip for someone else, you would have already checked the passport twice." And that is true. I have learned to do little things for myself, like have manicures and eat cheese and manhattan suppers, but I still feel like there's someone else who needs it Much, Much more than I do.

I wonder how many evacuations it will take me to get over that.

Another Long Distance Letter

"11 August 2008

The renovation marathon continues. The tile in the shower is gone. Sometimes I wonder if I do this to torture myself. I have bruises on my shins and nicks from flying porcelain everywhere. Here's hoping the shower pan is lead and not asbestos.

Dublin is calling - I'm torn between planning day trips to Galway & the Burren, Belfast & Giants' Causeway - or just Cork for their cheese - or just walking the street of Dublin sipping pints.

Clearly, now is a wise time to undertake a bathroom renovation.

Either way, I've gotten my wish to find a new positive past time. It distracts me from your absence. Am I allowed to admit that? And yet, a lightning storm woke me at 5:30 the other morning, and I laid in bed for an hour thinking of your kind embrace your tickling caress, mouth on me, hot breath in my ears - and the look in your eyes when I looked up at you from my knees that day --

I have met other folks, but none enough to distract me. Call when you get hired. I will need a current address, as well, when I go abroad.

xoxo
Veritas"

Dreams are Out of Control

Last night I dreamt, twice, about men telling me they were going back to their ex- girlfriends. Or trying to, at least. One was Gatsby, the other was a guy I had just met and hit it off with.

And then I dreamt that my brother and I realized there were homemade gallows in the chimneys of our house. Three chimneys, three makeshift gallows, three hanged. We decided it was a coverup from a hit and run, but... needless to say, disconcerting. More disconcerting was the fact that we couldn't call the police because we had hidden a the skull of someone we killed (is this a throwback to past dream?) in one of the chimneys.


The dreams are out of control, and I've met about 6 men in the last three nights while I was sleeping. I'm sure this is the sign of my psyche ready for it, however long it takes the universe to give it me.