Sometimes you catch a late flight to Buffalo and then check into your hotel room at nearly 1 in the morning.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
And though all of your friends go to see Sabrina the tranny midget performer, you decline, opting to stay in and attempt to have an actual conversation with the man who you said I do to. You call his phone and he doesn't answer; there is an option to leave a message but because he listens to his messages about as often as you leave them, you don't.
Sometimes dinner is a granola bar you luckily have, as well as a small bag of organic cheese nips you found in your suitcase. And while figuring out this particular hotel's wireless option, you happily munch away, grateful not to have to look for a vending machine at this hour.
You shower, happy to wash away the show make-up that is a reminder of the matinee you cried through because some friends left the show.
You use the hotel lotion because, even though the smell is obnoxious and cloying, it is simply right there and a whole heck of a lot easier than digging through your suitcase to find your own lotion that smells nothing like your great-grandmother's perfume.
Well, what you imagine her perfume would smell like, at least.
Sometimes life feels like a long night and a far way from home.
Sometimes life sounds like an answering machine when what you really want is a conversation.
And it's moments like these that make the slow and steady march of time a comfort more than anything else. Yes, that's right, May, don't be shy. So glad you're here, but please don't linger and why don't you give way to June sooner than later?
Because I don't mind these days passing at all.
Not when it means that I am closer to being in one place, that I can be with him.
Not when it means that I can come home.