We all have all tolerances and those that we cannot stomach. A trip to New York, originally intended to be 7 days. Transformed into almost a month. I return to San Juan. A place I still call home, despite the truth I can no longer hide from– that it no longer is. I hold on to it. My pinky wrapped around the balloon’s ribbon. The ballon seemingly deflated.
I come. Bearing a smile. Justifications. However, countless events have worn that smile, washed it thin. Unrecognizable.
Friday 10/30 The flight arrives at 12am. No one to welcome me. An airport within ten minutes, yet no friend to find. I arrive to my apartment. Carry my bags. My dog. To the second floor foyer outside my apartment. I climb the roof and squeeze through a window 1′ x 1′ over the stove as my keys lay inside. A rotting body so it smells. My hand against the cement wall to turn on the luz, to no avail. Fuck it. I have been here before. The company didn’t pay the bills. And worse yet, Friday. No hope for reversal until Monday.
Sigh. At least I am utterly exhausted. I go to collect my bags. The dog is gone. My heart races and I run frantically outside to the heavily trafficked “Ocean Drive.” Luckily a woman holds him. She was going to take him home. Thank god the Subway worker instructed her that he was mine. Flaca’s (the skinny girl who lives above.)
I lay my head. Tomorrow awaits. The first day that I can regain my routine. My horse. My workouts. My gym. The morning welcomes me. Yet no hour exists. No phone. No power. I take a coffee at said Subway. Charge my phone. The only spinning class is minutes away. I depart. Until the company car won’t start. As I shut the door, so does the blood in finger. Stuck in the locked door.
A $12 cab to the gym. A glorious workout. But, my finger throbs. Breathe. Calm. Like the celebrity’s tattoo.
I arrive back home. To recall that the hood of company car is quite broken. And the mechanic a month ago couldn’t open. The battery. The life. The heart that needs to be resuciated before the power and freedom that awaits me is guarded, unreachable. And my heart numbs. I search for perspective. The lesson in misfortunes. The strength.
Now I still search. As I sit. Feeling homeless. A bag of candles in my bag. A mile from home. At starbuck’s that closes in but twenty minutes. I pray for the power to revitalize my phone. My mind to collect so I can finish my work. 17 minutes.
And simply, I have no tolerance for stuck.