Merde, do I hate getting ready for long trips.

I don’t travel well. I used to, back when I had a van which could basically substitute as a mobile home, or when I camped rather than stayed in hotels or houses; back when getting someone to watch my place was a simple, “The bed’s there, feed the cats, lock the door.” Back before everyone had cell phones, when you could just drop in anytime, anywhere, and when I didn’t have to look presentable at any point, and no one cared if I wore the same ratty jeans and t-shirt every day for a week.

But lo: those times are gone. Given all the last-minute phone calls I had to make, it even got to the point where I — the person determined to be the last person on earth to get a cell phone — was very nearly wishing I had one of the damndable devices. Don’t tell anyone I said that. Especially Mr. Price.

Even just prepping the housesitter was like planning for the invasion of Normandy.

Thank christ, it’s at least looking like I don’t have to go on Fox News. Yes, I was going to go on Fox News: they’d asked a couple months ago, assured me that no, they were not trying to be scandalous or demonize sexually active teens, queer teens or myself, but still, I was wary. Even though I made very clear that if they tried, I’d go all bodhisattva on their ass and just sit very quietly and say nothing in response, I wasn’t feeling very trusting. But, seems clear they just couldn’t get their proverbial shit together in time — and since I told them I needed a day and time a few days before I left at a minimum, and they didn’t give me one, I’m in no way obligated to do it if they contact me at this point — which takes a giant weight off of my shoulders. I’ve declined television stuff before now, I’ve never really wanted to do TV, and I’m glad to have escaped it once more.

I’m feeling very nervous about going home, though. I haven’t spent this much time in my home city since I left it in ‘99. I also will be primarily staying at the mother’s place, and we haven’t spent a week in the same space together since 1985. When you run away from your home at the age I did, even when your parent is no longer living in the same space, or with the same jerk of a husband, and some things have changed, excited to go anything resembling “back there” again is not what you are. In a lot of ways, too, when I moved from Chicago there was this huge weight off of my shoulders because I was free of so many physical reminders of the worst things that had happened to me in my life: there were so many places I just couldn’t even drive by, that living in cities with all of nada when it came to traumatic history has been very nice. I’m not that elated about having to see or pass by some of those places again.

It’ll be good: I’ll see some people I have missed, spend time in some places I have missed… the ones that remain, anyway, which are sadly few and far between. My Dad even told me that you can’t find a paleta man anywhere at city parks in the summer to save your life: apparently, even a nice, chilly paleta is too ethnic for the (once almost nothing BUT ethnic) north side now.

I was really hoping to find a way to get my own shit together and try and arrange a mini-reunion between myself and the kids I used to teach (few of whom are kids now), but I just couldn’t swing it. As it is, just getting the laundry done in time and all the loose ends wraped up for the events I already have going on is proving a challenge.

And I suppose me sitting here going on and on probably isn’t helping. Well, damn: off with me.

filed under Heather Corinna | home | history
posted on Sunday, July 29th, 2007 at 4:35 pm

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