I've had some big decisions to make, as of late.
Decisions I haven't been able to process properly because I've been out of my mind on percocet.
*naseau, headache, drowsiness, constipation,
nightmares --- *
Like closing my bank accounts.
"Hello, welcome to Wells Fargo, what can we do for you today?"
"I'm here to close my bank accounts. Can you help me?"
"Now why would you want to do a thing like that?" the Wells Fargo employee forced a look of sad puppy melancholy.
"Well... I'm about to experiment living life as a vagabond and traveling the world with no money. Closing my bank account is the first step. Also, I think the ten dollars a month you charge me to keep my account open is stupid."
"Oh. Um. Well..." the confused employee rapidly examined his repertoire of reasons to
not leave Wells Fargo, but found a grand total of zero arguments to oppose my "I'm going to experiment living life as a vagabond" statement. "Let me just put your name down here and we'll get you in with the next available banker."
Saying goodbye to the people I love.
Thanksgiving week was full of turkey, gratitude and tears.
So many tears. And so much food.
Girl sob-gobbled her way all the way through.
I said goodbye to Sara on Monday. Over blue cheese fondue and perfectly sautéed brussels sprouts.
Goodbye could have been more...well...intimate, but my intestines were about to explode from three days of opiate induced unpleasantness. And my face throbbed in that one place where my tooth had been (and everywhere else), so goodbye was short, distracted and rather desperate.
Tuesday morning.
The day I finally pooped.
Thank GOD.
Before I continue, you must understand that I come from a family of excessively regular individuals. My dear mother would question us about the frequency of our movements over the breakfast table. If one of us five children had not already experienced at least two passings before our breakfast of seven-grain cereal and grapefruit, it was somewhat of a surprise.
So when I told Cathy I was constipated, she said, "Oh Aimee, I'm so sorry..."
When I told Judy I was constipated, she said, "Well, that just sucks."
When I told my mom I was constipated, she cocked her head to the side, squinted her eyes quizzically and queried, "What does that feel like?"
But Tuesday morning.
The day I finally pooped.
I was so happy that I skip/waltzed/pranced into the kitchen whilst singing, "I pooped, I pooped, I POOPED!" at the top of my lungs.
Cathy just smiled.
This is why I love Cathy.
Tuesday night was the last themed dinner this girl's gonna attend in a good long while.
In honor of this good long while, our theme was, "shit Aimee likes."
Pears.
Ginger.
Bacon.
Figs.
Pistacchio gelato.
Blackberries.
Cheese.
Girl likes good shit.
I tried to eat slowly, savoring the pears and pork the way I savored how easily conversation flowed between friends I didn't have to impress. Between friends who weren't letting me surf their couches or live from their fridges.
I don't have to "earn" my place here. I can just be. I don't have to worry about not having a bed, floor or couch to sleep in tonight if I speak my mind or vociferously assert my physical boundaries.
Being in a place where people know old me definitely freaks me out. Being in a place where I regularly see my ghosts chatting up my friends isn't something I particularly enjoy. Having a past makes it hard for this lady to be present. It takes a hell of a lot more work to relax into the moment when you feel like you're walking on a minefield.
A bomb or two went off during my time here.
The most noticeable being an article in a magazine.
"Aimee! Aimee, come look at this!" my friend Janet held up an article for me to see. "It's something your ex wrote. I think you'd be really proud of him."
I glanced at the article.
I let the magazine drop to the table.
*Thump*
"He didn't write this. This. This is something I wrote for him while he was struggling during finals in university. I wrote it for a class. A
class. To be read by his professor and the students. It's so intimate... it's so personal... it's so... AH. Janet... this is about my first experience nude modeling. For you. This is the experience of overcoming a shame that had poisoned my life for years. This is the experience of discovering power and beauty in my form. In my vulnerability. This is the moment I decided to love my body and all its imperfections. And that's partially because of the way you saw me. The way you made me feel. And now... here this is. With his name on it. And his pictures beside it. Oof. I just..."
And I fell into Janet's hug.
And then I fell into Sara's hug.
And then again I fell into Cathy's hug (I make a concerted effort to fall into Cathy's hugs on a regular basis. They are very,
very good).
Here's the thing, Bourget, I told myself as I continued to crunch bacon with Andy, Troy, Brevin and Jared,
you've got loads of minefields in this town. You can't predict which step will trigger a bomb. You can't predict how much the explosion will hurt or how quickly you'll recover. But girl, you've got so many hugs to fall into in this town. So many people to hold you and love on you when shit less tasty than figs wrapped in bacon end up on your plate.
You don't have minefields in the places you've never been.
But you don't have those hugs, either.
My intention was to savor all the scrumptious "shit Aimee likes", but I'm afraid I might have gobbled to stave off the sobbing.
These dinner parties are such a source of joy. Community. Sharing. Hilarity. Comfort. Deliciousness.
Am I going to have something like this again?
Who knows. I'm stepping out into the unknown on Friday. Again. And while the unknown and I are getting much more familiar these days, we've yet to reach the status of "chummy". I have a feeling that the unknown isn't particularly chummy with most people.
My brain (along with my bowels) returned to working order on Tuesday. Troy swung by Cathy's after themed dinner and we watched two episodes of Sherlock Holmes together. Then we talked. For hours. And I cried.
Finally.
"I haven't been able to cry like this in ages," I told my empathetic friend as I sobbed (sans gobbling) all over his shoulder. "But I think it's what I really needed in order to process this whole leaving thing. I need to mourn for the community that I could have... but that I'm choosing to lose. For themed dinners. For Cathy. For Janet. For Judy and her garden. For my family. For all the beauty in this painful place. For all the hugs I can't fall into anymore."
I know for sure I'm not running. I know for sure this is a life I'm pursuing for its own sake and not because I'm fleeing from my past.
I said goodbye to Cathy on Thursday morning.
"I'm going to make Guatemala look so good on my blog that you'll
have to come and visit me there."
I said goodbye to Janet and David.
"Thanks for flying across, you know, the ocean for us."
"I'm just so grateful that I could be a part of this beautiful, beautiful thing."
I said goodbye to themed dinner friends over coffee at my family's house.
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| Jason. |
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| Brevin. |
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| Jared and Andy. |
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| Troy. Avec toothbrush. |
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| Cosette and Chelsea |
I said goodbye to Jomas and the Colorado River in one go.
I said goodbye to Judy and her cats and her hibernating garden.
"Tessa took the tarp named Judy with her to France. So I've decided to name my hammock Judy. It's green and sturdy and will keep the snakes away."
"I'm honored."
"I love you, Judy."
"I love you, Aimee. A lot."
Then there was Thanksgiving.
And it was a meal that I certainly won't be forgetting in the near future. If at all.
Coq a vin.
Turkey breast stuffed with goat cheese, cranberry sauce and apples.
Lamb.
Sweet potato, apple gratin.
Pumpkin, maple, bourbon creme brûlée.
Coconut mousse cake.
Girl sob-gobbled an epic amount of turkey.
Ha.
I said goodbye to my family and my favorite cafe the next morning.
Troy bought me my last cuban cremosa and hugged me goodbye outside of Robert's car.
And then Robert whisked me away.
I can't believe this is actually happening. I feel so lucky and loved.
But girl might be pining for a few weeks.
Robert loves nature even more than I do. So our road trip included a good many stops to enjoy said nature.
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| I love this guy. Best roadtrip buddy. Ever. |
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| He points out rocks that look like turtles. |
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| He believes in car picnics. And in making the car smell of pesto for HOURS. |
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| He stops to look at cool things. |
Our first major stop was Mesa Verde. We arrived just before the sun set, so didn't have a whole heap of time to explore the cliff dwellings from the 13th century --
-- but every bit we did get to see was certainly appreciated.
"I want to live in a cliff," Robert lusted after the 800+ year old structures.
"We could live in a kiva together. You and Philip could have half of the kiva and I could have the other half. Yes?"
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| one of the six hundred preserved cliff dwellings of the Ancient Pueblo people |
We even met with a park ranger named Janet. Who had enormous green eyes. And was so helpful and informative and passionate about her work.
I almost cried when I saw her.
Pit dwellings from the 5th and 6th centuries. I like that Robert reads all the signs.
This guy commits.
These cliff dwellings are located in Mesa Verde National Park in Montezuma County.
"I want to get a cat just so I can name it Montezuma," I told Robert as we wound our way through the burnt forests of Mesa Verde.
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| All the circular pits are kivas -- spiritual and community rooms for the ancient pueblo people. Robert and Philip and I will live in one at some point. Philip doesn't know this yet, but I'm sure he'll be agreeable. |
The sunset was stunning. Robert and I both agreed that Colorado's sunsets are some of the best out there.
I sold some yoga equipment in Durango and then we journeyed on to Pagosa Springs, where we spent the night with one of Robert's friends.
First new couch on this adventure. What a fantastic start. I love that it's Robert whisking me away. If it weren't for him, I'd be such a bloody mess. But it's hard to be a bloody mess when you're with such a fabulous person and surrounded by nature that arrests all of your senses and demands your attention.
With just the right amount of hot cider and rum warming my body and softening my world, I drifted off on the upstairs futon.
Here we go...
