Aya

So I came home a couple of days ago and I am still energetic and alert. I think most of my jet lag consumed itself. For the first time in many years, I’ve slept for 13 hours straight.

I’m in love.

With traveling and dreaming again. I want more than this, and I’m not just saying that because of that euphoria of different places and people (well, maybe a little). I was determined to make this year the one that sees life-turning changes and serious adventures. Instead, I signed up for more contracts and bought an apartment. It was my one adult thing to do. Unfortunately, I think I missed again. I don’t care about what others consider to be the milestone thing to do.

The remainder of my trip in the US was more of the same. Toronto was a little better. A friend suggested a Somali restaurant but I got lost and my appetite was gone by the time I got back to the hotel. Montreal was crazy as usual and I really wish people would drive in their own lanes. And three cars in two lanes just doesn’t work. It is a beautiful city and I hope to visit again midwinter when the snow fall is at its most heavenly.

I landed in Valencia less than 12 hours after spilling the contents of my HUGE tote bag in the Montreal airport. Taking off your shoes, turning in/on/off your laptop, exchanging looks of pure evil with Quebecois officers while jetlagged will make you do that. I must admit, I was pleased when a young, angular Eastern European guy jumped from his spot and helped me regain a tiny shred of my dignity.

Pens, a magazine, loads of paper, computer wires and what passes for make-up came tumbling out but my prince charming got on his hands and knees to collect them. Wonder if it was that superiorly stupid grin from fatigue that he had mistaken for a damsel in distress look. Whatever it was, I was grateful and thanked him profusely. I even offered him a piece of my lemon cake but he shook his head. Then he asked in a very endearing, Borat-like accent:

“What he want with you?”

“I’m sorry, who?” Said pathetic old me with cake crumbs on her face and red veins in her eyes.

“Him, him”, he points excitedly at a shortish officer with bizarre Julius Caesar bangs. “He stare at you long time, what he want?”.

It beat me. I didn’t know what he wanted and I also didn’t want to pollute this nice young guy’s mind with venom (I save it for my blog readers…tehe). I didn’t want to tell him that I emit an oppress-me, kick-me-down-a-flight-of-stairs, and then make-me-miss-my-flight scent. Only the officer became bored with my vacuous look and moved on to the next fellow scent emitter.

Happily, I had a wonderful time in both cities but nothing like the few hours I spent in Valencia. From the moment I stepped into the airport, I knew I would love this city. Colourful, happy, and very animated people were everywhere. Our client was gracious enough to arrange for pick-up for everyone, I could not lug anything at all. I was the only member of the team who risked a shorter stay in Montreal (and DVTs) to have a few more hours in Valencia.

More soon.

Dudes and dudettes, I was going to update you when I get back from this melatonin-messing trip but someone pinged me (sorry A., wasn’t me). So I will share with you, my fabulous readers, a peek at some of the places/people I was asked to consult with.

My very first job had me sitting with a bunch of executives in their headquarters. I was assured before I left my lovely, tastefully empty, apartment that I will be meeting with the top 3 guys (or gals with mustaches and whiskers, damn that menopause!) who will give me the info. that I need.

They would do it without invading my privacy by asking where my accent comes from; they’re wonderin’ which state, by the way. And why in the hell did the financial model (pronounced mah-dul) that I sent over doesn’t work. I bite my lip, I’m dying to say that you can’t plug it into the wall and cook your philly sandwich, you hick muthafucka. But I got restraint.

The damn headquarters is a dilapidated building and the execs are the same bastards who can’t balance their worksheets and want more money from the gov. for hiring mustached hags (women) and ex-child-killers (veterans).

I breathe and count to 36 like my uni. therapist suggested (he actually said 10 but it takes me that long to uncurl my right fist). I pick up my laptop bag and pretend that I’m looking for something. Overdressed and feeling icky (what the hell is that stuck to my hem?), I hate talking to people who don’t understand and won’t do anything that I suggest. Get me out of here, tout de suite.

Will write more. How is the fasting going, my smelly compatriots?

Blessings and halitosis-busting haikus to all:

what’s that above your head

a mushroom breath cloud from hell

mints gum wash, please help

The back of the building where I spent an entire morning.

Wasted lives and a damn shame. A couple of young, stoned guys.

Something about Autumn marks a beginning for me. I feel as though my year begins in September. I gather it has a little to do with nearly 20 Septembers begun with notebooks and pens and little butterflies of anticipation. Like with all beginnings, some examination of the recently old is always in order.

But that will have to wait.

In exactly 2 days, I will board a plane for an 11-day (if no missed flights) multi-city business trip. I will probably spend no more than 36 hours in any given place including a very short stop over in Spain without the pleasure of sightseeing (*cries buckets of hot, bitter tears*).

I promised myself to do some real planning and traveling when I come back home.

I may not post as much but I will stalk and harangue (read and comment) on ye blogs as much as I can. My laptop’s power wire thing is becoming loose which means I will bounce the whole damn thing off of walls in airports but most places have business centers.

The little things still count though, right?

I’m in love with my shower curtains.

My closet shall remain a mess for as long as I please.

Dudes, I was going to blog about my favourite meal of the day and share some recipes. I was also going to talk about fall and why it’s my season. Hell, I was even going to talk about the new season of Prisonbreak.

Am I going to do that? No. I’m blogging from my death bed, people. I have some mutant cold/virus thing going on. I don’t know how it happened but probably a little shitkicker at work sneezed without covering his mouth. Whomever it is, he is living on borrowed time.

I don’t get rhinoviruses because I avoid people, children, and public washrooms. I don’t kiss people and I won’t shake your hands, especially if you look like Patient 1 in an epidemic.

I woke up in the middle of the night with screeching head pain. I was having a nightmare where someone had chained me in a small room underground and I was about to chew through my forearm to break free.

I probably would’ve had less pain. I’ve been dragging my body around since Sunday. My apartment is a mess, my kitchen…ugghh, and the dry cleaner is holding my clothes hostage.

My head hurts, my big toe hurts and everything in between throbs. I haven’t eaten since yesterday and my laptop’s battery is burning a hole in my abdomen as we speak because I’m too tired to move it. Wonderin’ how I got my sorry, feverish ass home? At 11a.m.? That makes two of us. Time has come to a grinding halt. I’m not one to write wills or last testaments but I’d like to leave my student loans to my ex. from uni.

Update: Haven’t slept. Again. Talking is out of the question and I’m officially living in my bathroom. Have friends coming over with more over the counter poisons. If my mother takes a plane and shows up for a damn cold, the cold will be gone and the sunny drapes she puts up will stay.

2nd Update: Wow, not eating for 4 days gives you unparalleled clarity. Actually thought I could go to work today but changed my mind when I couldn’t find the sleeves on my shirt. Things are looking up, thanks to all for great advice and well wishes.

My 3-year old niece flattened a piece of orange I had peeled for her and laughed uncontrollably. I had to lay down religious guilt quickly and efficiently. I told her God would punish her for stepping on food when millions of kids her age go hungry every day.

I was raised on religious guilt so I was doing my part to pass it along. She gave me a crushed look for a split moment. Then, she moved on. I refilled my guilt dispensing machine; I had to let this young missy know the gravity of what she had done. SpongeBob was far more interesting than my rant and she really had moved on.

I’ve been following the story of Mariam Amin for the past few months and her life’s devastation seldom leaves my mind. Mariam is 6 and paralyzed from the neck down. An Israeli missile caused her grave injuries and killed her older brother (7), mother and grandmother. She spends her days in a rehab. pool and in the company of her ever present father.

I think of the quality of her life and her father’s own life forever on hold. They are now fighting for the right to stay in a facility in Israel that at best offers a life of dependence and untold complications as she grows. I cannot think of a greater pain for the parents and relatives of a child than a dim future. They must wish that they would have a chance to see Mariam be sassy and full of mischief instead of lying on her back much of her life.

My own niece’s growth and independence remind me of how privileged we are to have her healthy. Mariam is one of millions of children suffering disease and disability for sins that are not their own.