Life use to be simple. Get up, go to school, eat, party, repeat. The not so simple part was the constant push and struggle to succeed. I know my dad meant well but now that he's gone, how will I know when it's enough?
I am still numb, part of it still hasn't registered. Six months ago my cell phone rang at about 7:30 in the morning. James announced my dad was on the phone. I thought it was odd he was calling me so early, but when I took the call, it wasn't him and I would never hear his voice again.
His best friend's voice rang through the speakers in my penthouse, a place my dad had never seen because my success was not "traditional", it didn't come from a "real job" so I hid my entire world from him. Trying to make him proud through more 'traditional' types of success but that was never to be. I felt numb as I listened to Rob sob on the other end of the line, telling me my father passed away from an apparent heart attack.
They'd been on their way to the hospital to visit a friend who'd just had surgery, when he slumped over in the passenger seat, then he was gone. No sound, no words, life simply left him.
The doctors confirmed at the hospital that the ending would have been the same even if he'd been standing in the Cardiac Care Unit. He'd just been given a clean bill of health and then he was simply gone.
They always leave. First my mom during childbirth, and now dad's gone too. For weeks I'd been too numb to move, but Samantha helped me slowly focus on the things that were important.
Her soft persistence, and sometimes not so soft demands, pushed me to get off my sorry ass and live again. Her outwardly pragmatic New Jersey attitude hiding her concern for my emotional and mental well-being. I knew she cared and I also knew she was getting restless not being able to travel because she was carrying my load of the work too.
It was my job to keep things running, it had always been her job to be social and 'live it up' for publicity sake, though more times than not she did it because the guitar player of the bad was hot.
While I looked like I was heeding her words, inside I was simply surviving but there was job that needed to get done and I was the one who needed to make it happen. As the managing partner for McKenzie Kingston my emotional hiatus wasn't helping business, not to mention the fact the Empyrean club, an alternate adult lifestyle club, was rudderless without me at the helm. All I ever wanted was to be a success for that man, to make him proud and I could never show him the things I'd achieved because they were so unconventional, frowned upon but right now they needed me.
Each day I get further from the call, I feel more numb to it. Writing has become harder but deadlines don't wait for life situations, clients at the PR firm don't care that your world is falling apart, only that you make sure their lives do not; and the club...ah the club, a place to escape from life that everyone seeks. At least it's an escape for the clientele.
Throwing myself into the many aspects of my complex life has helped me get through it all. On the outside I know I appear in control, together, aloof, standoffish and confident. There are other words that could describe me - intense, arrogant, overwhelming and intimidating, but I've worked a bit to attempt some balance; though some people in my life would argue I've yet to find it. I think about my recent disagreements with Samantha and her constant comments on my general demeanor.
I wish I could be more like her, somehow tough and tender in the same instance. So open to new experiences rather than cowering behind the internally built walls; to just be able to let go to an experience. Of course lately, it seems, more times than not, the intensity of my own life is causing me to internally tamp down all of the feelings that seem out of place for a woman who has it all together, but we all have our secrets and ways of dealing with pressure.
I suppose it could be worse. Early successes have left me monetarily successful, even if a bit alone. It's hard to know who to truly trust but then again that was what dad always said anyway: Never be vulnerable, never be weak.
I stretch. My mind immediately starts to race about the things that need to be done here or there. Shoving the thoughts aside, I roll over, punching the pillow hard attempting uselessly to go back to sleep.
"Good morning James," I call to the ceiling.
"Good morning Ma'am. I noticed that you have only obtained 4.24 hours of sleep. This is not adequate sleep to maintain a healthy lifestyle." The disembodied British accented voice echoes through the room from the speakers overhead.
I roll my eyes at the computerized voice. "Set status to morning routine."
"Current status changed to morning routine."
The thick window blinds begin to slide open, ushering in the sunlight just starting to light the sky outside. The room lights slowly turn on, increasing in brightness in increments.
"Good Morning Ma'am. The current time is 6:13a. Inside temperature: 66ºF, new inside temperature setting to 69ºF. Outside Temperature: 68ºF, Feels like 66ºF. Today is forecasted to be nearly the same as temperature as yesterday. Showers possible. It is currently partly cloudy with winds from the NE at 5MPH. The humidity is 37% and the Barometric Pressure is 29.75" and falling.
Sunrise: 6:13a. Sunset: 7:58p. Air Quality: Good. Ozone: Good. Pollen: High.
House status: Coffee is complete. House is in Awake mode." He completes his computerized report.
"Set oven to Broil." I call back.
"Oven temperature confirmed to Broil."
"Start shower. Set temperature to 105ºF."
"Shower started," James confirms the command.
For a few minutes I stare up at the ceiling watching the light of the sun slowly increase, inching over the horizon. Finally throwing off the covers, I walk into the bathroom and begin my morning routine, steam already wafting into the bedroom.
The next half hour is full of morning activity. Putting on one of my favorite bum around the house and write outfits, I head out to the kitchen. The smell of dark roast coffee greets me immediately making my lips pull into a smile.
Pouring myself a generous cup with heavy cream and a couple of spoonfuls of sugar. It is a decadent cup, but its richness brings a smile to my face and helps wake up my lagging senses.
Turning to the stove and grabbing a skillet, I begin the process of beating eggs with parmesan, salt and pepper; pouring the mixture to let it set, finishing the preparations for the frittata with the addition of the ham and asparagus. A few minutes later, the aroma blooms in the kitchen, I pull it from the oven. The light fluffy texture and golden brown top making my mouth water. Cutting a piece, I place it on the tray with my coffee carafe and head for my writing studio.
"Open all patio doors." I call out along the way.
"Patio doors opening."
