Close Enough

Radley and I were supposed to be on a Hawaiian Airlines flight from Oakland to Lihue this morning.  I only made that decision last night.  Seemed reasonable at the time.  Spend an entire paycheck on airline tickets to cross an ocean to go hide in a tropical paradise.  Sounds familiar.  I just did that two months ago.  Had a great trip to Hawaii last time, what would the harm be in making it a two-fer...This time while a kid who has school and field trips and extra-curriculars to account for would also be traveling.

Seemed like a pretty sound idea. So, I bought the tickets last night before I even told anyone that I was planning it.  Because I wasn't really planning it.  It just sounded like a good idea to get the fuck out of storm's way.  See, I have been in this perpetual fight or flight status since the beginning of the  year.  So, every time I get uncomfortable, I think it's a good idea to remove myself from the situation.  Only, for some reason, getting out of the situation makes me more uncomfortable than just dealing with whatever the source of the discomfort is.  I liken it to what crazy people do when they when they escape from the straight jacket:  the straight jacket was uncomfortable, but processing everything outside of it's comfort is horrifying.  So, essentially, I guess I liken myself to a crazy person?  Not an unreasonable leap, I suppose.  

Anyway, back to the flight we were supposed to be on this morning.  Theoretically, we should have been on the road by 6:AM to make our 9:35 flight.  I didn't sleep well.  I never sleep well before an early flight.  The terror of losing money on a missed travel arrangements haunts my entire being.  It just seems so wasteful.  But the travel industry has made enough to subsidize entire countries on their inability to be flexible.  So, this morning, when I woke up in a state of terror, I knew I had just lost an entire paycheck on two un-executed fight plans.  

I called the airline, canceled the tickets.  They were very generous to credit me, for the cost of $400.  Then I called my dad.  I left a message that would probably be unsettling to the most disconnected of parents.  He finally called me back when he woke up and said "can you fly later in the week?"  The suggestion terrified me.  I couldn't even leave the house, how was I supposed to get on a plane and fly across an ocean later in the week.  Two hours later my phone rang.  It was him again.  He said "There is a direct flight from Lihue to Oakland tomorrow.  I will see you in the evening."  All I could say was "OK."  

It's weird.  When I find myself sifting through the deepest, darkest, most rancid shit I feel I have ever seen, I retreat.  And people from all over everywhere seem to know it too.  After my dad called and announced his intentions to be here tomorrow.  After that man decided that he could walk away from the jobs he was responsible for and the people who are depending on him to meet deadlines, I naturally felt like the biggest dirt bag on the planet.  Why didn't I try to stop him?  Why didn't I tell him to go to work and to not worry about me?  Why didn't I just tell him I had a lapse in judgement and I am so fine that a trip across an ocean is completely unnecessary?  That is what I have always done.  So, why didn't I do it this time?  I didn't do it though.  And it made me feel worthless because I couldn't even formulate a series of cohesive words that would have made half sense.  

My dad told me that he's coming because his parent manual states that "when daughter's need hugs, dad's are required to get on planes.  It says it right here, Angela," he told me.  I laughed.  Then I felt like a bigger asshole.  Because that's not strong, fierce, and independent.  It's not what my parents raised me to be.  That's needy and insecure.  It's having your daddy come post a bond on your emotional deficits.  Basically, it means that you are a jerk and you can't handle life so your daddy is going to stop his entire fucking world to come make sure that you don't need to be committed.  

While I lay there, mulling over my emotional deficiencies and the gift I have for making people put their entire fucking existences on hold because I am always in some new and, unyet discovered,  dysfunctional state of turmoil, my phone started blowing up.  I wanted to take it to the corner and throw it into traffic.  

"Hi" 

"How are you doing, sister?"

"Sorry I haven't talked to you in a few days.  What's up?"

"How did I just drop my phone in a plate fruit curry.  That shouldn't even be possible?"  

Too much.  Too fucking much!  Then, as if I got hit in the head with the smart stick, I realized that they were all looking out.  They all had taken time out of their day to make sure I knew they were still thinking about me.  I resolved, at that minute, to be honest with them.  Because let's be honest.  If you tell someone what you are coming apart at the fucking seams, and they still want to talk to you, you have people.  

I was honest with all of them.  I told them that I'm not real functional right now.  I apologized for being that fucking guy.  I never want to be that guy.  Ever.  But they all said the same thing.  Maybe not in the same words.  They said:

"don't apologize. I've never lost faith in you."

"I am here for you."

"If I could, I would take away your crazy."  

"How's your hygiene?"

Really?  How's your hygiene?  Then I got it.  Because my people fucking know me.  Rach asked 

"When was the last time you brushed your teeth?  Did you take a shower today?"  I thought for a minute...thought some more.  Then I admitted:  "Yesterday.  I took a shower yesterday.  I brushed my teeth at the same time."  Silence on the other end of the phone.

Then she said "close enough."  

-Inner Peas