Staring at the Clock on the Wall

What began as an impromptu overnight trip south quickly went awry. He was irritated about work and criticized me for smelling faintly of cigarette smoke.. I was flushed and wild-eyed from an afternoon of wine tasting and too many Americanos. Traffic was awful. The restaurant had accidentally cancelled our reservation. The hotel clerk called me "Mrs" when we checked into our room.

All of a sudden it was late; we were two hours from home; I was in way over my head. 

I believe that you learn a lot about people from the way they handle unexpected annoyances. He doesn't handle them well. 

We managed to have a good time despite all of the hiccups. I'm always amazed when this happens. I'm not very good at hiding my displeasure. 

That night I lay awake long after he'd fallen asleep. I wanted to turn on the light. I wanted to write. I longed for my laptop, which I'd left behind in my living room. Instead, I lay there and I thought it all out, I wrote in my head. I tapped out fragmented thoughts and half-decisions on my phone. Only one thing seemed concrete.

This isn't how it was supposed to be.

The next day we were supposed to stay and explore, shop, eat, go wine tasting.  I asked him to take me home. We left early and made good time. Traffic was headed the other direction, mostly.

I spent the day with friends. I semi-crashed BestFriend's backyard brunch with her crazy family. Then I drove downtown for a late lunch and shopping with TheTransplant. 

He came over tonight, after all Easter festivities are long finished. Even though I work at 4 o'clock. He said he was determined to "make it up to me", even though I'm not upset. There is nothing to make up.

But, yet again, he sleeps while I write.

That's a line from a Jewel song, you know. Like right now, he sleeps while I write. I sort of detest Jewel's whole whiny-90's thing, but that line has always stuck in my head for some reason.

Be flexible

Reverb11
Prompt for December 20: Be flexible: Sometimes life does not go according to plan. Tell us about a time where you had to be flexible and change your plans. How have you made changing your plans work to your advantage? 

In October, I went back to Fayetteville. 

The night I was scheduled to fly home a terrible thunder storm rolled into Northwest Arkansas. The plane was grounded and what should have been an easy boarding process became an endless, hours-long wait. 

Sometime between eating a dubious-looking airport sandwich and re-wrapping my sprained ankle, I became unwillingly engaged in conversation with the three ladies sitting across from me. 
I do not usually talk to strangers in airports. I am a book-open-ipod-in kind of traveler. Really, give me some classic Southern rock, a novel, a Canada Dry and I'm good to go.
These ladies were in town for the War Eagle Craft Fair (who knew?). As it turned out, they were from Lompoc. Lompoc is a small town about an hour south of mine most notable for being home to an Indian casino, a prison and an Air Force Base. After some gentle interrogation on the part of the apparent ringleader, it was discovered that I knew one of their sons in a friend-of-a-friend way. (Ok, truth, he sold my ex boyfriend car stereo equipment and I still had his card in my wallet because I'm a crazy pack rat.) I soon tired of the interrogation and excused myself to limp toward the cafe in search of an Americano and an electrical outlet. 

My flight eventually boarded around the time I should have been landing in California. After spending some time on the tarmac and additional time issuing dire warnings that we may be rerouted to an airport in the desert, we were finally wheels up. 

After five hours and the bulk of Uncharted TerriTORI later, we landed at LAX. Due to my sprained ankle and the fact that my ass had been asleep since we were jostled about over The Rockies, I was unable to bolt out of the plane like I usually would. When I finally struggled out of the plane, the Lompoc ladies were waiting for me. 

The ringleader related a long story- the gist of which was that they were stranded. At LAX at 2 am. I somehow found myself agreeing to carrying the three ladies and all of their luggage north with me in my tiny tiny car. 
I blame the time changes and the fact that I'd been up for nearly 24 hours.

Forty-five minutes later, the ladies, their ten bags and I were squashed into TheEgg and headed north. The Matriarch suggested that we drive through Malibu. She neglected to inform me that this would add significant time to our trip. The ladies in the backseat promptly fell asleep and snored nearly all the way up PCH. The Matriarch stayed awake the whole time. She alternated between asking me extremely personal questions and telling me every minute detail of her diet and medical health. By the time we reached Ventura, I wasn't sure if I wanted her to keep talking to help me stay alert or go to sleep so I could have some peace. 

After creeping through the low-laying fog on the coast I finally delivered the ladies to their respective doorsteps. I found myself with an empty car and a package of wax-paper wrapped apple turnovers finally homeward bound. I did my best to follow The Matriarch's driving directions, but between the fog and the winding roads I found myself lost on the dirt roads that run between the strawberry fields. An hour later, I finally found familiar territory and then the highway- a good twenty miles off track. 

I crawled into my bed as the sun was coming up, exhausted but no worse for the wear.

Those ladies were nutty, but they were probably the only reason that I made it home safely that night. And the apple turnovers were delicious.