Separation, and six degrees of it.

13 01 2007

I was good this time. About the crying, that is. Only a few tears, a quick gushing at the security gate, one turn around to see his face, and then…
It is now 10:30pm Saturday July 13th. I left New Zealand at 5:25pm Saturday July 13th. But I traveled for no less than 17 hours. I gained an entire day somewhere over the Pacific. I was in New Zealand this morning. I ate a bite of boysenberry muffin in an internet cafe with Dennis and then drank a cup of coffee. And now, suddenly, here I am, on my old familiar spot on my green slate floor, writing this. We woke up together in the same place this morning, we drove around and took our time in Orewa, spent a little time in Takapuna on our way to the airport, and hung out a little more there. It was a slow, long day and it was lovely to the very very end of it. And now I’m here? And he’s already in tomorrow? It seems impossible for me to just kind of suspend myself in time and touch down in a new place altogether, but one that feels comfortable and familiar and god-did-I-mention-lonely?

So while I was good about the crying in front of him at the Farewell For A Long Time / Are You Carrying Explosives Gate, and while I was good about the crying on the Shorter Than Last Time Flight Across The Pacific Buy Still Really Long, the last legs–from Chile to Sao Paulo and on the bus ride home were only slightly more harried. If I could have drawn pictures of myself throughout the day, like a comic strip, the line designating the shape of my body would have begun smooth and flawless and become, by the time we landed in SP, the frustrated angry scribbles of a child who hasn’t gotten her way and takes it out with paper and dark teal crayons. This is because the flight from Chile to SP was filled with The People Who Weren’t Happy With Where They Were Sitting And Therefore Asked Gina To Move By Pointing First At Her And then At A Different Seat and also The Loud People. By the time I got on the bus to Campinas, I was so completely tired and strung out that I could do nothing but listen to music and weep. I took my glasses off and through the blur of myopia and tears, the lights we passed on the highway through the trees looked like giant, fuzzy warm festival lights, which then made me feel even more sad for thinking how beautiful it looked and not being able to reach over to Dennis and show him what I was seeing. It seems impossible to be that far apart again.

What also seems impossible is that I sat next to someone I freakishly know on the flight from New Zealand to Chile. His face looked familiar and as we began talking, before the plane started to taxi to the runway, things he was saying about his life started to sound familiar too. This guy had written to me asking me about Brazil about two months ago and I had written him back quickly to tell him what it’s like here. And there I was sitting next to him? Straaaange.

Well it appears it may be time for bed, even though on NZ time, it’s two in the afternoon. I may call on the use of Chamomile Tea and Tylenol PM to help me adjust. If only there were an adjustment remedy for what it feels like not to be with Dennis.




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