IMR: Entries: 2001: April: 27 — Friday, April 27, 2001

Silly Solitude It figures that during this brief time of the year we're encouraged to go home early from work, I've got nothing to go home to. Today, we're being told that if we're not out by 3:30 p.m., we're going to be thrown out. Which, frankly, is the sort of workplace threat I could never get enough of. But with Jen and Katie in Florida, I actually prefer shuffling through papers and listening to NPR here in my little corner downtown than puttering around aimlessly at home. For what it's worth, I don't think I'll wallow in such aimlessness as long as I did the last time they were away. At least I better not. I resolved to get out and Do Stuff™, and I mean it this time. There's at least a couple of beaches and a handful of movies out there with my name on them. I've got some writing I've wanted to do for a while. And there's always Rich and William, with whom I really should get into trouble sometime. There's also lots and lots of sleep. I'm hoping to make up for at least a couple of years of my insane, unhealthy daily/nightly routine in these three weeks. Seventeen days, eleven hours and fifty-two seconds, that is. Mom and I were both on hand to see the Centers of My Universe off on their cross-country journey Tuesday night. Since the flight wasn't until 9:30 p.m., we first went out to dinner at The Old Spaghetti Factory at Ward Center. Only after a second lazy stop at Long's Drugs for last-minute supplies did we head for the airport. We got to Gate 11 exactly one hour before departure, and just sat, watched Katie play, and felt sad and nervous together. Well, the adults were sad and nervous. Thanks to a several days of brainwashing, Katie was nothing but thrilled about riding an airplane — make that three airplanes — to "go see Nana and Papa in Florida." She alternated between admiring the Northwest jet out the window and climbing onto the uncomfortable leather chairs to play her latest make-believe game, "haircut." Jen fidgeted, pouted, and as is an established tradition, occasionally whispered that she changed her mind and didn't want to go after all. But soon "those traveling with small children" were called, and I hugged them and kissed them and walked them to the jetway, and with only a small hint of tears, sent them on their way. Sighing, mom and I headed out. I drove her home to Mililani, then drove myself home, going slowly, listening to the oldies station, trying to get comfortable with the emptiness hovering around me. I walked into an empty apartment for the first time in ages, and tried to go straight to bed. Of course I couldn't sleep, so I got up again, watched three repetitive cycles of Headline News while reading the day's Star-Bulletin front to back. Then — feeling unqualified but adequately earnest — I prayed for Jen and Katie to have a safe trip. Then, finally unable to resist, I jumped on the web and tracked their flight. Now, I hate flying. I hate it so much, I even hate it when people I know fly. So, usually I know better than to think too much about it, knock myself out with cough syrup, and look forward to waking up the next morning with everything already done. Except this time their trip would take a full day. And during the aforementioned CNN binge, one of the stories was about a miraculous plane landing in Florida. I knew I wasn't going to sleep easy anyway. So, switching between Trip.com and Trackaflight.com — and hitting "Reload" until my finger hurt — I watched Northwest #928 make its way to San Francisco. When it landed, I logged off and waited by the phone. Sure enough, Jen called, and Katie was babbling in the background. The flight went well, everything was fine, and they off to somehow spend five hours at an airport. Whew. We whimpered a bit at each other before hanging up, and somehow that was enough for me to calm down and get some sleep. The web ritual continued through much of Wednesday, as NWA 260 headed to Memphis and finally NWA 585 headed to Orlando. Jen called me from the car on the way to Daytona Beach. They're well, almost over their jet lag (although Katie has been resisting bedtime well past 10 p.m.), and of course Jen's parents are thrilled to have them there. They've already done the driving tour of Daytona, with lots more fun planned. Disneyworld, certainly, and the much-anticipated drive up to Virginia to see Jen's brother Michael and his son Erik. I'm nagging Jen into e-mailing often, and they've promised frequent digicam photos, so that'll keep me from sliding into insanity. But absence does make the heart grow fonder, and if my present fondness level is any indication, I'll be about ready to explode come May 15. How has my family-free diet been? Tough call at this point. Wednesday night's dinner definitely came in at the low end of the spectrum, as expected. Half a tall canister of PikNik shoestring potatoes (on sale for 99 cents at Long's) and over a liter of Pepsi. Or at least the boil-a-bag ramen. But last night I managed a pot of rice and some perfectly-marinated teriyaki chicken. (And Pepsi.) It was so good, I actually ate too much. I might have to go back to the PikNik tonight. I've certainly been productive at work. Though usually once the sun goes down, work slowly gives way to puttering. I have to confess, I've already spent a few bucks on eBay. And yes, I've been productive at home. Washed a sink full of dishes, knowing that at least while the girls are gone, at most I'll be washing one plate and one fork a night. Tackled the fridge and the pantry, throwing out heaps of old stuff, only some of it hairy and/or lumpy. I even went after the grand-daddy of gross: the kitchen counter under the dish drainer. I swear, that's only a few microns above toilet bowl rims in the yuck department. Last night, I tackled the pile of boxes and wires that is our makeshift entertainment center, and even cracked open our old DVD player (goodbye, already worthless warranty) to rescue a CD that Katie had shoved in there the wrong way over a year ago. It was the soundtrack to "Philadelphia." I better start getting out, or I just might be insane enough to go after Katie's room soon.

Comments E kala mai! Comments have been disabled due to overwhelming abuse by spammers. Please click through to any of the video hosting services linked above to leave a public response, or feel free to send an e-mail. Mahalo! < April 23 · April · May 02 > © 1997-2008 Ryan Kawailani Ozawa · E-Mail: imr@lightfantastic.org · Created: 13 November 1997 · Last Modified: 14 January 2008