The Q-Tips

     “It looks like she got a ride home from one of her friends,” I said as I sat back down.

     “I just can’t … wow,” Karen said, looking deep into the middle distance.

     The waitstaff was wandering from table to table making sure everyone was ok.  Two or three of the bussing staff were cleaning up the area closest to the dance floor.

     “I thought they were just playing around until she slapped him.”  Karen put her right hand over her mouth and blinked like she was trying to bring herself back from deep space.

     “I didn’t see it.  I heard it,” I said, “ but I knew it was bad because I heard it over the music.”

     Karen had finally convinced me to stop by a new local spot she found.  It was between my house and my Mom’s place so I had no excuse.  There was a band playing she had heard about from one of her colleagues.  She was there for support.  The colleague was interested in the bass player and didn’t want to seem like a groupie.  Karen wanted me to stop by so if her friend got wrapped up with the bass player she wouldn’t be the single woman in the bar.

     I felt like the only person in the bar still wearing a mask.  It was me and one other woman but her mask fell just beneath her nose.

     The band was used to catering to an older crowd.  The songs were late 60’s through mid 70’s pop tunes with one or two popular songs from the early aughts and the mid-teens.  You could tell they were used to the older crowd because you could still talk to people next to you and hear yourself think while they played.  The music didn’t pin you to the wall or push you out the door but you could feel it and like it.

     It was like they had set up a dj a bingo night.  There were a lot of older folks getting up and dancing.  When I was younger, I worked at a movie theater.  There were certain showings that were mostly the older crowd.  It was all silver, grey, and white hair.  It looked like a sea of Q-tips from the back of the theater.  The dance floor looked like a sea of Q-tips moving to the groove.

     The couple in question was in their mid 40s or early 50s.  They had been handsy and flirty most of the evening.  The drinks had been flowing like water.  The incident came out of nowhere and was over in seconds.  By the time I turned around after hearing the slap, he had already flipped two tables near the dance floor.

     There were a few tense seconds where it seemed like this 6-foot-tall man was going to attack this 5-foot-tall woman and the few people around him.  The band stopped playing and stepped back from the edge of the stage.

     He balled his fists so tight it seemed like his fingers were trying to push through his palms and wrap around themselves.  You could see the gravity of the situation set in his face.  The dance floor split as he stormed out.  You could hear his vehicle tear out of the parking lot.

     The older women in the crowd tried to make sure the younger woman was ok but she was already on her phone.  She ignored all of them and kept to herself.  In about 10 minutes her friend arrived to take her home. 

     Everyone tried to pretend like nothing happened but you could feel it in the air.  The band started playing. Karen’s colleague decided to stay and take time to make time with the bass player.  I walked Karen to her car.  Her gaze was still deep in the solar system.

     “Are you ok?” 

     “I just … I thought of Tony … “.  There was a sinking feeling in my chest.  I’d known both Tony and Karen for years.  I had been there for both of them during the divorce.  I was the one who hadn’t taken sides or played politics between the two of them.  I was friends with Tony and Amber, his current younger girlfriend.  I had also seen Karen through her various attempts to date since everything was finalized.

     There were things neither of them had told me.  I was hoping not to hear the worst.

     “Did things get that bad between you and Tony?” I asked quietly.

     “No.  It was the opposite.  There was nothing.  It was like he crawled into a void of emptiness and silence.”  She leaned against her car and let the darkness of the night wash over her.

     The light of the police car broke the darkness.  It did a quick drive through the lot then got back on the road after a quick talk with security.

     “Is it crazy to wish,” she said, “that there was just something more near the end?  I didn’t need flipped tables or public slaps.  I just …” her voice trailed off, “I just wanted him to feel something, anything.”

     She put her head on my left shoulder and exhaled.

     “Don’t get me wrong I’m not advocating domestic … “

     “I know.  I know.”  I said putting my hands up in understanding.

     “You’re gonna to be all right,” I said, now looking straight at her as she leaned against the driver’s side door of her car.

     “You’re damn right I will,” she said with solid confidence.  Her thousand-yard stare was coming into focus.  Her eyes met mine with a smile.  Her hug was deep, strong, and resilient.

     She beeped her horn as she turned to head home.  I used my remote to help me find my way to my car.  Karen’s hug felt like her soul had pinned itself to mine.  I wasn’t pushed out the door.  I could feel it and I liked it. 

190

 Me:  So my doctor and I have been talking and she has a few suggestions.

My Body:  I know I was there.

Me:  Yes but I don’t think you were listening.

My Body:  I don’t really have a choice in the matter.

Me:  You’re being literal.

My Body:  Why are we actually having this conversation?

Me:  I think I’m going to implement some of the changes she was talking about.

My Body:  Do tell.

Me:  She suggests we go from about 190 to somewhere between 160 and 175.

My Body: 160

Me:  Excuse me.

My Body:  She said 160.  You countered with 175.  See you’re already giving me reasons not to trust you.

Me:  What I’m saying is that I’m going to give it a try.

My Body:  Good luck with that. 

Me:  Hey, maybe we could…

My Body:  Nope.

Me:  But…

My Body:  Nope.

Me:  20 years ago we did this.  Hell even 10 years ago.

My Body:  At neither of those points in time did the first number in your age begin with a 5.

Me:  I figured we’d give it a try.

My Body:  By we you mean me.

Me:  I mean us.

My Body:  No.  You mean me.  You are an entity that occupies this physical structure.  I am the physical structure that has to try to comply with what ever seemingly simpleminded shit you come up with to try.

Me:  Wow this is a strange conversation.

My Body:  How do you think it sounds to me?

The Relapse Lottery

      Every time I don’t play the lottery I feel like I’ve won.  I know that I am not going to win if I play.  The odds are against me.  I am so non-committal when I play that I just do quick picks.  It would hurt my feelings to put time and effort into personal numbers (birthdays of loved ones, some variation of my name in numbers, the numbers of the streets I’ve lived on, etc.) and still lose.  The money spent on the tickets is normally a loss.  Anything heavily promoted to you is designed to take something from you.  It might be your money, your attention (so they can put more ads in front of you), or your time.  

     It sneaks up on you.  Just when you think you’re ahead of things you blink and the world has somehow passed you by.  In the worst case scenario, it has caught up to you and put you in the situation you were trying to escape, again.

     Maybe you’ve got a little bit comfortable.  You had a feening for that good feeling and forgot about the fuckery that follows.  You tell yourself it’s just a text to say hello.  You tell yourself the whole bottle won’t disappear this time.  You tell yourself the credit card will be paid off as soon as the bill comes in next month.  You tell yourself she really is leaving him.  There are just a few complications that need to be worked through, but it’s really happening … this time.

     You know the slogan is backwards.  “You can’t win if you don’t play” should read, “you’re being played so you can’t win”.

     You can only plant your feet so deep.  You can only drop your shoulders so low.  You can only close your eyes and breathe for so long.  

     Burying the first layer of pain with a second layer of pain does not make the first layer go away or hurt less.  It gives that third and fourth layer fuel and incentive to grow faster and burn hotter.

     It’s so easy to call for a quick ‘pick me up’, grab a nip at the local liquor store, snag a loose cigarette from the smoke shop (because buying a whole pack is almost as expensive as half a tank of gas), or find yourself in a house/apartment/club/car you know you shouldn’t be in thinking about the bed/couch/bathroom/backseat you know you’re going to be in if you don’t leave right now.  But you’re still there.

     This is the lottery.  This is the game.  It’s so easy to say ‘Don’t play’.  It is.  BUT the rush you get is so good right up until the moment you realize you’ve lost.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t some non-committal quick pick.  You were playing with the hearts of loved ones, some variation of your soul, and the promises you’ve made to yourself.  This is deeper than your attention, your money, or your time.

     This is the fuel for that third and fourth layer.  This is the fuckery that follows.  How do you stop?

     You plant your feet deeper.  You drop your shoulders lower.  You close your eyes longer.  You keep breathing.  The deeper you plant your feet, the harder it is to pull them up to run to the house/apartment/club/car/liquor store/smoke shop.  The lower you drop your shoulders the longer it takes to reach out for that ‘pick me up’.  The longer your eyes are closed, the easier it is to envision where you want to be rather than where you are.  The longer you keep breathing and envisioning and dreaming, the more time you have to figure out how to step aside and comfortably let the world pass … for the moment.  

     Take time to enjoy the ride.  Trust me, you’ll get where you need to go.  Just because you didn’t play someone else’s game the way they wanted doesn’t mean you lost.  Sometimes not playing their game is the best way.  Not doing something that makes you feel worse about yourself is the best way to win.

     I’m not saying don’t do hard things.  I’m saying don’t do hard things that have no stakes.  Don’t do things that only hurt you and your loved ones in the end because even if you win that lottery you still lose.

    Feet planted.  Deep breath taken.  Shoulders dropped.  Eyes closed.  Future envisioned.  

The Tirade About Squats

I have been doing assisted squats this week.  It’s best when holding on to a door knob or a counter top. Things feel a bit looser but they are still shitfucks of misery.

This is followed up by stretching and crying of course.

By day 3 it got better but those first few days were pure fuckery.

For example, I still see stars after the first 10 squats.  Have finally gotten up to 25.  Without assistance it is just a test of balance. With assistance it is a respectable depth … of pain that leads to soul searching.

I’m getting to the age where the only thing hard about my body is living in it.

Doing squats gives me the same feeling I get when I've been hit really hard and there's a strong possibility I might pass out.

I spread 50 squats over the course of a day.  It can be 5 sets of 10 or 2 sets of 25 or 3 sets of 15 with one set of 5.  Most are assisted (holding on to something).  None are that deep (like me in my 20s) and they all hurt.

They are supposed to help loosen up the psoas (muscles that hate my ass) but the only body part that feels worked out are the tear ducts.

Honestly, I’m happy to be able to do this exercise to strengthen the core and build endurance to keep going.

And, fuck squats.  The two feelings can coexist.  I don't just say this because I look like a fat duckling that’s about to fall over when I do them.  It’s because they suck.  My cat looks at me like he’s worried then he remembers he has an auto feeder.

Strangely though … I LOVE burpees.  They are possibly listed in the Geneva Convention as things you can’t do to prisoners BUT I can do a set of 5 to 10 every hour on the hour.  Go figure.

Maybe the jumping out of a squat makes the soul think it is ascending to heaven without actually trying to send me there.

As far as squats vs burpees, my burpees make me look like a hand sculpted Egyptian God standing in the golden sunset.  My squats make you wonder if I just shit myself.  Go figure.

Tirade complete.

The Road Home

 Sometimes the road home is smooth.  Sometimes it’s rough. Even though I live in CT, I fly out of Newark, NJ rather than Bradley.  It sounds like it might take more time BUT when going to Bradley there is a process.

The drive to Hartford can take anywhere from 1 - 2 hours depending on the day.  I park in the parking garage because I want to make the quick walk over to the airport.  It’s a little bit more expensive than offsite parking, but the convenience is worth it.  The Hartford airport is very small.  The gas, travel, and parking 3 for days usually cost me $120.

The travel to Newark, if planned properly, can be easier, though it’s also a process.  Three trains.  Metro-North is a 15 minute walk from my front door.  The ride to Bridgeport is $2.75 and takes 30 minutes.  Amtrak from Bridgeport to Newark can be as little as $20 each way.  With travel insurance the total can be $30 each way.  Bridgeport to Newark takes 2 hours 15 minutes.  The tram directly to the airport terminal takes 5 minutes. This cost is covered by the Amtrak ticket.  Total cost of round trip travel, when planned properly, $67.

The flight itself is also less expensive.  To fly from Hartford (BDL) to Tampa (TPA) is $205 at the time of this writing.  The flight from Newark (EWR) to Tampa (TPA) is $138, also at the time of this writing.  These are round trip numbers when scouring for cheap flights.  My flight from Newark to Tampa was only $100.

The only real wildcard with the train is flight changes.  In the past I’ve had to scramble to change a train when a flight is leaving 1 - 2 hours earlier than expected.  I’ve never missed a train due to a delayed flight but it’s been close.  

I now plan 3 hours on either side (arrival and departure) just to make sure there is some flexibility if things go haywire.

If the flight is changed to an earlier time at Bradley, I drive over earlier.  If the flight is delayed coming home the car will always be waiting in the parking garage.  If the flight is delayed it costs more but the car will still be there.

On the last trip from Tampa I decided to take the earlier train back from Newark.  My flight landed at 3.  I was supposed to be on the 6 pm.  This train would have brought me back home for 9:05 pm.  If I could catch the earlier, the 4:12 pm, I would be back home for 7:15 pm.  Called Amtrak to change it.  Was on the phone for 15 minutes.

They tried to change the ticket but didn’t, initially.  They lost the slot for the $20 ticket I paid for and said I had to pay the conductor $5 when I got on the train. No problem.  I hung up and waited for the app to refresh my ticket.

Nothing.  15 minutes to train arrival.  Tried to refresh my ticket.  No change.  Still reads 6:00 pm.  10 minutes to train arrival.  No change.  5 minutes to train arrival.  Nothing.

I call again.  I’m put into the call tree.  I finally get to the point where I can enter my reservation number BEFORE it will let me talk to another human being. Even though the app has not refreshed the automated system lets me know that the reservation has been changed from 6:00 pm to 4:12 pm … THE NEXT DAY!!   It’s now 4:10.  The train arrives at 4:12.  I’m still on hold.  I jump on the train.  It takes off.  

I’m already on the train.  They are now coming around to scan tickets.  I’m thinking I might get kicked off the train.  The app is not refreshed.  Even if it did refresh, I’m on the wrong train.  Just as they are about to get to me there is a bit of commotion.

The train stops at the NJ Penn Station.  There is some police activity on one of the trains ahead of us and we are stopped for an undetermined amount of time.  

The problem with the train travel from Newark is that the schedule is very tight.  The 4:12 train from Newark arrived at Bridgeport at 6:37.  The Bridgeport train to my home station arrived at 6:47.  There was a 10 minute window.  The 6:00 pm train from Newark arrived at Bridgeport at 8:22.  The Bridgeport train to my home station arrived at 8:31.  Minimal room for error is allowed.  Hence the aforementioned 3 hour flexibility window.

The app is still not refreshing.  If they do decide to scan tickets, I might still get kicked off the train.  We are at NJ Penn Station for 1 hour.  No movement.  People start leaving the train to take The Path.  This is the local train that takes you from New Jersey Penn Station to the World Trade Center Station.  I would then have to take another train to Grand Central to catch the metro-north back to CT.

The guilt begins.  Why didn’t you just stay on the 6:00 pm?  By this time 90% of the passengers have left the train to catch The Path or take an Uber.

I got off the train to take The Path but I couldn’t get my card to work on the turnstile.  As I turn around in frustration, I notice the train that was immediately in front of us for the last hour and a half has moved.

I jumped back on the train and it took off.  We were only 15 minutes ahead of the 6:00 pm train.  Everything felt clear.  Most of the passengers were gone.  I would be in Bridgeport early enough to make the 8:31 connection.  All was good.

Just then a voice came over the speakers.  “Thank you for staying with us through all the delays.  Next stop is New York Penn Station.  Due to the time taken up on the tracks, a new crew will be taking over.  We will be rescanning tickets.  Thank you for your patience.”

It was like a game of cat and mouse.

My ticket was still a mess.  I tried to call Amtrak to see if I could get it adjusted BUT we were now underground and I had no service.  Jumping on the Amtrak Wi-Fi didn’t help.  My phone is not set up for Wi-Fi calls.

What now?  Get off the train and hope to catch the Metro North back to CT?  Stay on the train and plead the case to the conductor?  Even if they dumped me off at the next stop I could’ve made it back.

I decided to stay on and take my chance with the conductor.  I wasn’t trapped in Jersey anymore.  I was in Metro-North land.  The last train from Bridgeport to the home station was 11:43.  I would get home at 12:13 in the morning.  It was miserable and late but it would have worked.

I saw the conductor and stated my case.  He scanned my ticket.  The app still hadn’t refreshed.  The reservation scan pulled up my information.  It looks like the agent over the phone had deleted everything.  There wasn’t even a 4:12 ticket for the next day.  He laughed it off and let me stay on the train.

Got to Bridgeport at 8:05 rather than 6:37 or 8:22.  Caught the 8:31 back to my home station and walked the 15 minutes.  The 6:00 pm from Newark to Bridgeport flew through without a problem.  Everything was cleared up by the time they were ready to roll.

Apparently, a man had been killed in an altercation on one of the trains ahead of us.  He would never get where he was going.  That incident is what delayed all of the trains going into the city.  Sometimes the road home is smooth.  Sometimes it’s rough.  At least I made it.