Revelations from the road (or) Acres of Concrete Chaos

I recently spent four days at a work conference. Which sparked the following post.



In my life, I am never alone nor alone for long. On the road, I noted a glaring lack of demand on my person and time. I marveled at my table for one while polishing an entire magazine. Walking about, without holding a little one’s hand, my gait settled and slowed. Then I was startled by the sound of my own thoughts. Then I heard them in full sentences.

At first I was bewildered by this. Then I started recognizing my freedom. Free from the ties that bind. Last time I felt absolute freedom was in college. I was a young girl with short shorn hair, tied up like tail pipes. Feral, happy, little tailpipes. Running all over campus, becoming a nurse. That was the last time I was truly alone. It was ten years ago.

The days wore on. My feelings grew odder, then grew into lead. They lined the pockets of my peacoat and strained the hem of my skirt. Without my tribe, I felt temporarily disappeared. Which is to say I was very sad. Then I ordered two martinis at the bar. This helped a little.



The next day, I decided to get out of the hotel. My goal was to walk and see the sights. The big city had huge skyscrapers, acres of concrete chaos which left my eyes round. But the absence of Mr. Hall was killing me. My arms ached to hold him. My ribs missed his weight. My mouth craved his ear to whisper my awe.

In the end, I recognized the utter lack of balance in my life. The last vacation I had was three years ago. There is no excuse for this other than self neglect. I need to guard against the inertia that constant need creates. Guard against it like a junk yard dog. I have gobs of vacation time saved up. It’s high time Mr. Hall and I used it.

So we will go. I will wear high heels and a low cut dress. I will be his hot wife, fawning all over my man. Blowing on his dice because baby needs a new pair of shoes. We will get drunk and giggle till my cheeks get red. We will get a room with two beds. Because The Tribe Called Hall started with us. It’s time to tend the roots.