In less than one week, I am heading to Washington, D.C. to work for a few weeks and hang out with some family and friends. I’m combining work and pleasure because I’m poor. (For now.) And because I can. And because I need to see some Fall. And because DC is pretty during the month of September.
Even though I know one CAN drive across the country in less than 4 days, in the essence of time, I have to fly there. Like many of my other neurotic behavoirs, this one is all-consuming and totally irrational. The last time I flew I took xanax and that took the edge off. Actually, it took everything off; reason, awareness, fear, consciousness, and very nearly, my clothing. There were times during our trip where Toby would leave me for a few minutes and upon returning find me hunched over, drool falling from my face, feet wherever gravity decided to put them. It probably wasn’t the best time to wear a skirt. Probably not the best time to be left alone in an airport at 7 a.m. wearing a skirt, hopped up on xanax. But I ended up o.k. And if anyone touched my while sideways, contorted and covered in drool, I have no recollection of such.
I hate to fly. Already, I’m nervous about having to do so. And my departure is almost a week away. I am flying JetBlue. That’s good, I suppose. But I’m not sure why I’m saying that. What’s bugging me the most right now is that after I land this time, my worry isn’t entirely over. Toby arrives a week later. I worry about him flying, too.
Here is where I have to admit to something.
We got married in January. We eloped. And maybe it’s because there was no wedding planning, and there were no relatives present, nodding and crying in approval, but I don’t think my marrying Toby really sunk in until very recently. After we moved here, I started to realize just how much I need and count on him. They say the first year of a marriage is the hardest, maybe that was the case years ago before unmarried people started to move in together. I don’t know. But over the past several months, I have grown to love and need him so much more than I had before. When I force myself to imagine living without him… I’m not even sure I have words for this type of fear. Should I be told I would eventually have to spend my days without him, I’m not sure I could do it. I’m not sure I should have to. I’m not sure that I can.
What a selfish person I am!
I don’t like to be without Toby. And so I told him that he should take some time off and come to DC for a week to play pool and relax. He agreed to do so. He is to book a flight today. Recently, I started to think what if something happens to him because my needy ass doesn’t want to spend two weeks without him? What if – because of me and my selfishness, my inability to be without him – something were to go wrong?
And I want to have kids someday. The They Group should pass a law making this illegal.
(This, my friend, is why people shouldn’t eat ducks.)