Sweet Fancy Moses has it been a hectic couple-a weeks. For starters, Brian’s company raced inexorably toward their year’s biggest deadline. When people ask me what my husband does for a living, I tell them, "He makes the internet happen," which is almost unequivocally answered with the question, "WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS, AL GORE?" This, in turn, is followed by a loud laugh from the person making the joke and a blank, flat, dead-eyed stare from me.
So that happened. I’ve been dealing with a difficult situation in my life, one that has ruined my mood even on days when it was far away, and one which I’m handling but not with as much grace as I’d like. In addition I realized recently that someone from high school blocked me on Facebook, which doesn’t really bother me as it does just strike me as remarkably lame and passive-aggressive, but it’s okay, because if you’re reading this, which I’m sure you’re not, all I can say is, wow, you really showed me.
I think I can chalk all this rambly difficulty up to the fact that it’s February, which is my second-least favorite month of the year behind August. It would be my least favorite month except for the fact that it’s so mercifully short. It’s February every year when I decide that winter is not going to relent this time, that it’ll be cold and dark forever and that we’re all going to die soon. All of which would be true, except that I have a teaspoon of hope about Obama and the stimulus package, and I just designed next month’s banner for this website and I think it’s my best one yet. Also, in addition to two plane tickets from JFK to Dublin, I am also now the proud holder of a hotel room for the Fourth of July weekend in Washington, D.C. and, soon, a set of plane tickets that will get me all these fabulous places we’re going over the summer.
But it’s not enough that we’re planning to spend a week away from our lives and our country in July, because somehow we have ended up with tickets to see David Wilcox in Dallas over the last weekend in March. I can’t say for sure of course, but I’m reasonably certain that my life would be completely different if, on a random road trip over Martin Luther King weekend in 2000, my friend Tish hadn’t introduced me to David Wilcox. I’m pretty sure it would be very, very different. He and his music have had a profound impact on the person I’ve become in a way that not many artists have, and yet I’ve never seen him live. In addition to smiling like an idiot on LSD throughout the whole show, I also am considering knocking on every door in our hotel to see if he’s staying there, as the people who own it also seem to own the space where David will be performing.
As ever, we’ll be staying here:
Because, no matter how many times we go to Dallas we never get sick of lounging by their kickass pool. This year I’m going to try a Cucumber Collins or a blood orange martini and be nice and calm and relaxed and secreted away from all that currently stresses/bums me.
Prospects for future travel include a possible weekend at the Price Tower in Bartlesville, though that’s more of a work-type thing as I’m considering it for my current article series, and there’s a "literary" conference going on in Tulsa in April that I’m considering attending. I will tell you, though, that no matter where or when we get away, that once Daylight Savings time arrives (is over? I never know) that you will find a much calmer, more relaxed and well-adjusted person who will have miraculously survived his 29th February without shooting up a post office, and for no other reason than that, I deserve that damn drink.
