If only in my mind.
A recap of the weekend, as I attempt to calm the rage-monster about to become a serious alcoholic I've become since Wednesday morning:
I went to brunch with a woman I met when we both joined the same real estate brokerage years ago. Neither of us are still there, and neither of us are making our income from selling real estate, but she still has a hand in here and there. I still have an active license. We are both convinced that the model of real estate is changing, and brokerages don't work anymore, but that's neither here nor there.
What I got from the brunch: it was a very, very long brunch. We sat at an outside table in the shade for 3 hours and tipped the hell out of our awesome server, and got more than our money's worth, mentally and physically (we were stuffed and mildly buzzed when leaving), and I left feeling more peaceful.
We agreed right away that other than a brief "Can you believe WTF just happened to our country" we would focus other things. We talked business and art and our futures and our families. She's moving to an active adult community. I respect her choice and think it may be right for her, but I can't ever see myself doing it. I will visit her when she moves in, when they are having a band and lakeside party or whatever it is, and catch up with her then. Not my personal goal, but I do understand where she's coming from and think it will suit her, and hope it will work out.
I mostly want to get hooked up with her pottery studio, because damn, she's made some lovely stuff, and she's currently building a totem for the lanai of her new home, and it's freaking stunning and would cost a fortune to buy, and I'd love to learn to do that.
Brunch was a dream, and I am so afraid that it is so close to my home. After about three hours of refilling plates and daintily sipping endlessly refilled mimosas and talking and talking, we hugged goodbyes and vowed to do it again in a few weeks. I was not too buzzed to drive, and proved it by two hours later taking off for Animal Kingdom with my daughter and Delaney.
My immaculate new car is now somewhat less immaculate. Delaney barfed into a bag on the way, and some of it missed the bag. She's started being carsick again, and after some reviewing of circumstances we realized that in a big and soft-moving vehicle she needs to sit in the middle, so she can see forward. She's barfed in her mom's RAV4 twice so far, anytime she's on the highway. She didn't have an issue in my small and road-feeling Subaru on a 16 hour round trip to AVL, but yeah, these RAV4s are different, and apparently are too smooth and floaty. Her mother had the same issue, and had it until she was old enough to drive. Life is going to be hard for Delaney because it's now against the law to let her ride shotgun. After puking in my car she rode Expedition Everest AFTER eating a small bag of Doritos, so it's not normal motion sickness. We'll put her in the center of the car from now on. If she can look straight ahead out of the windshield it's okay, but that side view?
It was so weird, because as we were barreling down the 429 to Disney, she got quiet. I looked in the rearview mirror and told her mother that she was maybe asleep, but her eyes were sort of rolled up and half open. Not a minute later she'd grabbed a bag and was trying to carefully barf into it. "I puked." After it passed she was all sunshine and raring to go. On the way home she started messing with me, faking barfing again. "Not funny." "Which (of the reusable grocery bags in the back) should I use? Not Lion Guard!" She selected a a beat up Star Wars grocery bag as the return trip barf bag, and occasionally entertained us by gagging into it between carrying on talking in nonsense voices, fighting exhaustion.
I cleaned the upholstery and it's fine. I'm making my first car payment next week. It's officially part of the family now.
We rode the nighttime safari ride, and saw hippos actually out of the water, and various creatures, and a bunch of giraffes clustered together (no doubt grateful that the nighttime tours were winding down) and then we reached the lion area. Again, we heard the lions roar. The male and two females all started their nighttime vocalizing, and it was just so goose-bump raising, and my daughter tried to record it on her phone. How often do Americans actually get to hear lions vocalize? It was amazing, and most of us were in rapt silence. It was spoiled by the assholes at the end of the truck who couldn't stop talking to EACH OTHER, LOUDLY about the lion. Everyone, including me, started shhhing them, to no avail. "That's a lion! He's roaring!" Oh wow, he's roaring, that's a lion!" shouted over the actual lion, followed by cross talk among themselves about how those three lions were roaring and let's take pictures or some such shit.
Right now, I'm not sure Americans deserve to have nice things.
Yesterday was somewhat healing, but yeah, we are still basically fucked.
So I've run away to New Zealand, thanks to another round of Kindle Unlimited book series. In the Land of the Long White Cloud. I needed an adventure far away, and so far, this is really good.