Tuesday, February 16, 2010

Oh The Tangled Web...

The past three days have had me in turmoil--the kind of angst that settles in your belly and leaves you in a constant state of "queasy". I have no one to blame but myself, of that I am certain. I am equally as certain, however, that at this stage of the game there's no easy way out. I engaged in a lie of omission and have been skating the thin ice of discovery. Yes, yes, I know all the cliches--"the truth will set you free"; "the truth hurts"; etc. The truth about THOSE, however, is that they were probably penned by someone who had never lied. And so it goes...

I suppose this is where I wear my heart on my sleeve and type my sordid confession, and I shall, but not before a word of warning--it's not pretty. :: sigh :: 

It all started a little over two years ago. I met Mike online (yes, most of you know THAT part of the story), and we were destined for that now historic (well, historic for ME) meeting. What you DON'T know is that during that time, we discussed at length his eventually coming to live in the states. We talked about the roots he had in the UK, and I assured him that we would visit there together as soon as humanly possible. Last summer came and went, and with it went our first opportunity to fly back to England. Money was short; a summer school opportunity presented itself; and, in short, we ran out of time. This year, however, things are a bit different, and Mike has broached the subject of our spending two weeks in early August visiting with his family. So far so good, right? OK, now the part I conveniently omitted--I am TERRIFIED to fly. I'm not talking a little frightened--I'm talking all out, faint on the tarmack, puke on the flight attendant, white knuckles panic. I've only flown twice, and on both occasions, my flying partner(s) vowed never again--EVER. Those flights were relatively short (Florida and Georgia), and yet the terror lives with me to this day. I get hives just thinking about it--looking pale-faced and pasty, turning to the flight attendant in the aisle and pointing out that we were flying a LOT lower than we had been. "Um...yes, miss, that would be because we're...um...landing?" I told you it wasn't pretty.

And so, while Mike is busy making mental notes about where he wants to take me, to whom I should be introduced, and what restaurants are a "must", I am living a prisoner in my own lie, wondering how I can alert the feds to some imagined offense that will prevent them from issuing me a passport, or how much Xanax it will take to keep me sedated for the length of the flight. What? Can you think of ANOTHER WAY??

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