Thursday, March 29, 2012

Three Hours

During my final year of college, my parents, my sister and I took a family trip to Arizona over spring break.  It was the first time I had done anything over spring break since I had been in school, so despite the fact that it was a family trip to a place I really didn't care to go I was excited.  There were good parts of that trip.  The grand canyon was good.  The park ranger-guided moonlight walk around the rim was one of my favorite parts of the trip.  But then there was Phoenix.  I hated it the moment we landed and got off the plane.  It was blistering hot, as if I could feel my fair skin actually frying.  And it was just the beginning of March.  Everything was brown and orangish-red with barely any green insight, besides the spiny cacti.  The city itself was sprawled out and sad-looking to me.  We went to fancy hotels that my sister had managed to reserve since she's a travel agent.  But that didn't make me like it there.  It was still so hot and devoid of all the things that I love about Ohio in March.  Back in Cincinnati things were about to bloom, daffodils and hyacinths would be popping up through the ground soon.  Birds would begin singing their happy songs and making their nests.  But there, in Phoenix, it was hot and everything around me felt dead.  It felt as if the sun had set everything on fire and burned it to the ground with it's insufferable rays.  I disliked everything I encountered in and around that arid, dusty city.

Fast-forward to 7 years later.  After 10 months of working in the wonderful and fairly close city of Chicago, Antoine finds out his next consulting gig is in Phoenix.  Antoine was over-joyed to find another consulting job and by the opportunity to rack up more frequent flier miles.  I was wary, with good reason.  I knew my Texas born fella could handle his heat, but I also knew that Phoenix and I didn't see eye to eye.  Then I find out that Phoenix doesn't participate in day-light savings time, so in March when we lost an hour here in Cincinnati, Phoenix sat on its lazy ass and did nothing.  So instead of being a two hour time difference between Cincinnati and Phoenix, it was now three.  And what a difference three hours makes.

When Antoine is going into work, I'm going to lunch.  When I'm getting home and eating dinner, he's working.  When he's leaving the office, the office that has no cell phone reception, I'm starting to get sleepy.  When he's getting back to his hotel with his dinner, I've either fallen asleep on the couch or am about to pass out in bed.  Our schedules are off.  And techology seems to be against us.  Half the time he doesn't receive my texts.  And when we face-time, when he finds time to face-time, the signal is all scramble.  When he manages to call me on his way to or from work, the connection is lousy.  Let me repeat, I do not like you Phoenix!

So, for right now, I'm frustrated.  I know there are reasons to be thankful for this project.  I am thankful that Antoine has a job that he enjoys and I am thankful for all those perks of consulting, the frequent flier miles and hotel points will make planning our honeymoon so much easier.  But right now, I don't care about those perks.  Instead I am anxiously waiting for August to roll around and for this project to be finished.  Then, hopefully, he can find something on the east coast, a little closer to home.  Hopefully.

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