So, I started writing about 5 different blogs over the past few months. I never posted them because I would get busy and not have time to finish thoughts or edit. Tonight isn’t really different, but I’m going to put what I have written down here and hope it is clear and isn’t too full of mistakes.
I also have to come back and talk about the Hebrew course I’m in, maybe I’ll add another post tomorrow about that.
Last little bitty in here: I have really been struggling with wanting to get high on pills again. It is almost every day that something, usually a song with a particular back beat, triggers these memories or feelings. Always the good parts of being high, never the crashes afterwards. Thank goodness I’m not in Tampa and have no friends or suppliers here for pills. Small victories right? But, if you love me and want to see me throw my life away again, send oxy or pain kills or both. Joking. Half joking. Kind of. Nervous laugh? Ugh, I just wish it wasn’t addictive/expensive/illegal.
With that, here is my copy and paste draft that I was working on. It is a long one:
I keep seeing this memory come back into my head. It is my first night here in Israel. I don’t really remember much of the flight over, unlike my flight to Papua New Guinea. I only have fleeting in and out memories inside the airport; sitting in a small office getting my official ID, lots of paper work and booklets. Then out on the curb, getting a taxi that the state was going to pay for.
The drivers face is mostly obscured in my mind’s eye. Younger man, I would assume arab since most Jewish Israelis would either be in the Army, doing their post Army world tour, or studying at university. He was nice and cheerful. I was exhausted and confused. It was as if I was seeing things from a movie point of view. My face was practically glued to the passengers side front seat window. The yellow dim from the street lights passing at the same intervals, sending their beams dancing across my face. It was all so fast, large and confusing. Like a country bumpkins first time in a large city.
The drive to the kibbutz was about an hour and a half. I tried to match the drivers energy during the beginning. I explained questions he had of me and asked my own. But probably only 15 minutes in, still close to the airport, I just passed out. The adrenaline rush had worn off and I just didn’t have anything else to run on. I didn’t sleep long, maybe 30 minutes. When I woke up, the driver still cheery. I must have appologized for falling asleep because he said, “It’s ok, you are here now.” You are here now… Three years later and I am still trying to get used to that. Such a simple sentence but so full of meaning.
Fast forward a bit and I’m now on the kibbutz that night. It is probably 1030 or 11 at night. Here I am, carrying my whole life in a huge hiking pack on my back, a small backpack on the front of my chest, a small hand bag I got from the government office at the airport in my left hand and a stuffed full suitcase in my right hand. The ulpan director is driving in her little go-cart next to me, with no offer of help, as we make our way to the ulpan building and my first temporary home in Israel. I am the first to arrive in my room and will have the night to myself. There is just one light blanket on the bed and one small pillow. The director gives me a basic intro; bathrooms there, kitchen at the end of the hall, air conditioner on the wall. She leaves and I am alone. It is freezing out and even colder inside. But I can’t seem to figure out the heat option. I sleep horribly that first night.
As I am trying to decide if I want to eat PB&Js or a tomato and cheese sandwich, I keep thinking about the jab back and forth at work last night. As I got in, Lily was trying to find out what restaurants would be open (Shabbat) and deliver at 11pm. Hannan asked me and I my response was I think just dominoes. He pushed for something more and my response was that I don’t make enough to order out that much. His response was something along the lines of ‘well, you don’t look like your missing out on any meals.’
I want to punch capitalists.
So, yes, I do want to punch capitalists. But the back and forth was just another example that I still struggle with. Hannan is the assistant hotel manager. And I am an entry-level front desk agent. There is enough space between us on the figurative ladder that jabs about my weight wouldn’t be appropriate in America. Yet here, it doesn’t matter.
(insert after rereading: Just in case, I want to make sure that anyone who might know Hannan, he is actually my favorite manager and the one I respect the most. I actually find myself making mental notes on his management style so I can be like that when I get back into management. This was just a one-off example).