July 07, 2014

Day 36: How to Deal with Being Alone

Me and a floating dead woman at Fort Myers beach this weekend.

After spending the last four days wrapped baby koala style around my favorite person, I am now sitting at my kitchen table alone.

Thinking about the last four days when I'm now eating microwaved Brussels sprouts by myself is enough to drive a much saner woman than me crazy.  Thinking about this holiday weekend, the sunny Southwest Florida beaches, the fresh seafood, the 2 for 1 margaritas, the fireworks and fried Oreos, and most importantly, falling asleep next to Derrick for the first time in two months... it's not safe.

So I'm not thinking about all of the reasons I am so damn sad to be sitting here alone at my kitchen table.  Instead, I'm thinking about how it's actually pretty nice to be sitting here without anyone next to me.

Because that person could be Brendan, the blue-eyed 18-month-old who neighbored me on my flight to Fort Myers.

Don't get me wrong; I love babies.  I've actually prematurely hit that phase when squishy babies just puddle my heart, including chubby little Brendan in his blue and white striped onesie.  I didn't even mind him when he decided 30 minutes into our two hour flight that no, actually on second thought, he didn't want to fly today.  As he wailed and wriggled and threw his hands up in the air as he melted to the floor in anguish, I actually found myself thinking, "Me too, buddy."

I hate flying and so if I could, I would be wriggling by my footrest to make it stop too.  The thing I wouldn't do, however, is become so irate that I peed through my pants onto the airplane floor out of sheer spite.

And even if I did angry-pee to make my point, I think I would have stopped there.  But not Brendan.  Brendan returned from the airplane bathroom in a new monster truck tee-shirt so outraged to find that we had all ignored his obvious sentiments on the whole flying thing that he spent the next 1.5 hours furiously kicking and screaming and beating his mom's chest.

Which, besides the occasional kick to the rib-cage, didn't really bother me too much.  I mean, I had a good book and he wasn't my kid.

Granted, it was a bit harder to ignore when a stray foot collided with my tray table and sent my cup of water all over my lap.  But even then, bless AirTran's soul, they come with vinyl seats that are very easy to wipe dry with 39 little AirTran embellished napkins.

But even so, I'm quite thankful to be sitting here alone tonight without little B.

I'm also glad to be here by myself without the girl who flew back to DC next to me, in seat 24D.  I didn't catch her name but I do know that she was an unfortunate victim of mismanaged bagel sandwichery this morning and was very, very displeased to find that her egg and cheese sandwich did not come with an egg.

(Luckily, though, her girlfriend had a spare.  I wasn't able to see where the girl pulled the fluffy, yellow square to give to girl in seat 24D, but girl in seat 24D was pleased enough with it to put it on her cheesed bagel.)

The only other thing I know about girl in seat 24D is that her lack of egg became somewhat of a moot point 20 minutes later as she was throwing it up next to me.  Luckily, unlike Brendan, girl in seat 24D managed to keep her bodily fluids off the airplane floor, instead packing her vomit very neatly into a white bag in front of her.  But still, I kind of lost interest in my beef jerky after that.

So I know everyone hates a Lucy Life's-so-pretty, always trying to look at the bright side and all that optimistic crap, but when the only other option is to remember that the most lovely man I know is somewhere hundreds of miles away from the empty chair next to me... well, a girl's gotta do what she has to do to keep her sanity.

So cheers to being alone, where the only bodily fluids you need to encounter are your own.