Onsite Schedule (and somewhere in all this, work gets done)

Image4am: Roll eyes at the glass of wine on the nightstand (I waste about a ¼ of the box in this fashion).

4:30am: Drag myself out to the pool for laps.  In this oblivious state, get yelled at by hotel staff to navigate around the floor buffing. Think, “Christ, the maintenance at Disney is never-ending. Why can’t they ever put away my ironing board?”

4:35am:  Get in pool and have irrational fears that an alligator is in the water waiting for me.

5:30am: Traipse thru hotel in towel soaking wet hoping I don’t see anyone I know.

5:35am: Co-worker gets off elevator and says “Hi Sharon!” while my wet haggardness gets on.

7am call time: Bitch about not sufficiently “visiting Kathy’s parents” then smart-assedly ask what everyone’s plans are for their day at Disney.

12noon: Point out how tight the morning’s lose-fitting clothes have become and how my doughboy capabilities are uncanny. (While this has remained a source of – mostly my – amusement over the years, I should probably see a doctor.)

3pm – 6pm: Make various inappropriate comments about everyone and everything (role plays, incompetent tech guys, hooker load-ins, etc.) as it is my way.

4pm: Realize we all have LMFAO’s “Party Rock” hatefully stuck in our heads.

4:05pm: Sing techno break to “Party Rock” with co-workers against our will for 5th time.

5pm: Mention again (because that horse is not quite pulp), that I am such a bloatation device, they could fly me in the Macy’s parade… and just in time for the dinner troughs.

6:30pm: Whisk out of our meal buffet with a covered plate to smuggle up to hotel room to enjoy with boxed red wine while lounging in my underwear. (Glamorous!)

8:00pm: Fall asleep in front of TV with glass of wine at my side.

12:30am: Awake in a panic thinking it is morning.

4am: Repeat cycle (until I have no idea what day it is).

Aloha Hawaii?

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I’ve spent two months working in NYC and when I was preparing to leave Hawaii to come to the city, you’d think I was heading to death row. I was teary at the thought of leaving every time I looked out the window at that heavenly sprawling Hawaiian view. I felt like flying from HI to Newark was literally like going from heaven to hell. (And every time I am in the security line at Newark, it really does feel like I am as far from paradise as one gets.)

After completing two freelance gigs based in Manhattan full of laughs and frustrations, I am torn about returning to Hawaii. I have not lost all sense of reality. I do know which one brings me birdsong and plumeria-scented breezes as opposed to homicide-inducing car horns and 51 nasty flavors of subway stank. But, after 4 years, I have yet to establish a lucrative source of income or any sort of social life in paradise. Whereas, in NYC, I can convince someone to hire me on occasion to their satisfaction and my door has revolved many nights for very enjoyable dinners at Chez Inieberator (I cannot really afford to go out, so having friends in is my remedy).

I am hyper-aware of my motives (yet act helpless to change them). I probably moved to Hawaii to escape something in me. You can run where ever you want, but you cannot shake your inherent traveling companion.  Until something is settled inside, outside (no matter how beautiful) will never satisfy for long.

When I arrived in NYC at the start of this visit, I was easily able to greet the frowning rudeness with a “that’s your problem, you uptight city haole” smile. It is becoming harder to maintain that “I’m fresh off the mountains of paradise so you can’t squash me with your steamrolling city ways” attitude.  I’m starting to fantasize about ruining people that cut me off on the bike or lay on their horn at 3am in front of my window.

I am an unemployed NY Shitty beast again, so it is time to leave and hit restart. I can’t be in NYC without work. I can easily start Howard Hughes-ing — sunlight makes me squint with blindness, my shoes can no longer contain my toenails and I’m speaking in clicks and grunts in no time after the last paycheck has rolled in.

I guess I cannot really say what I feel about Hawaii until I look into my lover’s sunrise again and fully know if I can bear to leave it. What I do know is that it is inspiring, expensive, lonely, gorgeous, passive-aggressive and wondrous.

What I don’t know is if my passion for it is realistic. I have aging parents I am VERY far from and cannot afford to see, there is no reliable work that pays enough to support my HI rent, I talk too fast, blonde and loud not to get stink eye on a daily basis, I really should pretend I’m something I’m clearly not (a sweet-natured, unopinionated island girl) in order to assimilate and sometimes it feels like I am on a deserted island. I haven’t figure out how to make who I am work for me there. 

Aloha ‘oe?