more of the same

Somewhere over the pacific I penned this into the back cover of a book that never was read during my flight.


OK, so I'm on my ninth vodka of the flight and we've been in the air for a scant 6.5 hours. The first two hours of waiting in the airport were spent in a phone booth without a seating assignment sobbing like a small child. Apparently I didn't need 3 hours to check in and I desperately wanted those minutes to be spent with Oriana. Once on the plane I made friends with a concerned stewardess and began to alternate between vodka and tissues. I told her my sob story and she responded with a bag full of tiny bottles of vodka and said, "Go home and drink it away." And now at 36000 feet above the Sea of Shelekhova I've stopped crying enough to take my sunglasses of and come back to reality a little.


And now the jet lag is beginning to take hold as it's 4:12 A.M. but I feel the need to be awake. In a few hours I'll be back at FIS wondering what the hell I'm actually supposed to do there. Thinking back to the spring of this year when I toyed with the idea of breaking my 2 year contract and coming back to the states to live with Oriana, I wish that I had given the finger to my boss and walked away. The school is the same, the boss is still a moron, and it's going to be a long time until I get to see Oriana again.

Our summer together was better than anyone could have dreamed. We traveled well together through Mexico and the Caribbean and spent just about every waking moment happy and content (except for the dengue fever episode). Now the band-aid has been ripped off and she's a distant voice on the telephone line again. I suppose that this will hurt tremendously now but will quickly return to the normalcy of last year.

I can only hope.