1
Escaping A Breakup with Your Potato-Smasher
“Humility, that low, sweet root, from which all heavenly virtues shoot.” ~Thomas Moore
Who needs a bottle of wine when heartbreak can make you just as senseless? Even if you feel like you’re eating soup with a fork, don’t give up. Little dribbles of hope and clarity will seep into your journey as you follow along.
After being humiliated too many times, the conflict between what you know and what you feel can be resolved by looking at where you are. If it’s where you want to be, then … there you are. But if you’re making a complete fool of yourself and torturing everyone in your life with your crazy pinball relationship woes, it’s time to get out of the arcade and make your way to a new mecca.
First, give yourself some credit. You have become virtuous by continuing to breathe after your heart was crushed. Secondly, simply escape. If you’re the type to stay and fight for what you want, you will discover when, or if, it’s time to pack your bags, even if you don’t know where to go.
Take charge of your itinerary. It’s not easy, but you will find a way if you open your mind to all possible routes. I will help you.
I learned an ingenious tactic when I slid into an obscure hideout with a wave of relief. I had escaped. A new life began for me when I had my tolerance tested. It was negative. So were the emotions seeping from my marriage. It was time to go.
You probably don’t know about the guarded secret I am about to expose. (I had a Top Secret clearance back then.) The unexposed nexus is a passage to paradise, behind an obvious façade, veiled in plain view. I am prone to exaggeration, so I am intentionally being conservative here in telling you about my flight to freedom where I discovered this oasis.
It all began, after 30 years of marriage when my X (RC) gave me two weeks to move my belongings from our house so his Texas Trash Tramp could move in. You may have discovered that in the middle of a crisis, you just don’t think rationally. So, don’t even start wondering why I evacuated on demand. I have exactly no idea. I just mindlessly moved out.
All I know (because I still had a key) is that she had nothing to move into my home except suitcases full of very expensive clothing, makeup, and shoes. No blender, no books, not even a wine glass or potato-smasher. I took my potato-smasher by the way. It seemed logical at the time. She got my RC, but she didn’t get my potato-smasher or my favorite wine glass!
She did acquire my new furniture and old stained linens. Good for her. I’d like to high-five her with a 2x4 in the face - but I digress. For karma, I left her my mom’s hidden ashes for a few weeks. Mom had to be just as pissed as my dog was about that skank squatting in my homestead.
Anyway, I boarded the plane and aimlessly pushed my way to the very back. You know, the seat that doesn’t recline. Like most things these days, that seat was not my choice. But it wasn’t so bad. I am an optimist. I sat for 149 minutes as they repaired the ventilation system, and it gave me time to ponder why and when they banned potato-smashers in carry-on.
The stale air was suffocating. But overwhelming discomfort came from the fact that the woman in front of me was accompanied by her feline in a carry-on, and I am deathly allergic to cats. Consequently, the moment I squeezed into my corner seat; I was clawing at my swollen red eyes. Luckily, I was distracted by a screaming 4-year-old with a limited vocabulary of “No” and “Stupid.” His poor mother must have been nearly deaf because that child had to shriek his insults mere inches from her unresponsive face.
We finally pulled away from the gate … and were delayed … again.
In my glorious optimism, I controlled the urge to run for an exit. I had just sweated through a 2 ½ hour delay at 98 degrees on blazing asphalt. I knew I could endure another hour going nowhere. Air was finally circulating. I was squished into my little corner by a couple who loudly popped the gum in their jowls from the moment they sat down, relentlessly swirling their tongues to readjust their globs, efficiently cracking and snapping. I gagged when the passenger in front of me leaned her seat back into my lap (she and her cat).
Finally in the air, I began to breathe easier. Well, until my new friend repeatedly leaned over my body to photograph the clouds commenting on “how close we were to heaven.” Meanwhile, her relentless gum popping made me feel like I was in hell!
I suddenly became severely claustrophobic and popped from my seat, escaping to the aisle in one swift leap. It was one of those moves you look back on in amazement. Really, how did I do that?
I stepped into the galley and ordered wine. The flight attendants had observed my “situation” and offered free wine to compensate for my misery. I hung with the flight team for a while, until the conversation turned from my absurd dilemma to airline schedules and crew rosters. Wearing out my welcome, I slyly slipped away.
Not wanting to return to half of my seat, and thinking I had exhausted all options, I haphazardly stumbled upon the most amazing discovery! There just so happen to be private cabins available on airplanes. I know, you didn’t know, right?
As many times as I have flown, I never knew about this hidden compartment. You can’t book it in advance. It isn’t even in first class; it is better, truly private. No one can see you. You can pick your nose without being observed, stand up, move around, sit back, and breathe your own air.
I acquired another complimentary glass of wine, a bag of pretzels, and slithered into the last available secret cabin on the plane without being noticed. It was heavenly. I leaned back on my seat, locked in with my book and wine. It couldn’t have been any finer.
After only 38 minutes of bliss, and after ignoring the knock for as long as I thought believable, I folded the door back and peeked out. I had been discovered. I cried inwardly. No other place on the plane offered a private sink, disposable seat covers, and sanitary amenities. The flight attendant said, with true compassion, that I simply must return to my assigned seat and buckle my seatbelt.
It turns out, that lavatories don’t have them and, when you fly into extreme turbulence, you are required to wear a stupid seat belt.
I’m pretty sure I suddenly became menopausal during the remainder of the flight. My temperature spiked. I broke out into a cold sweat. I became impatient and irritable. My hair began falling out (probably because I was pulling it). I became overly anxious, and I had absolutely no interest in engaging in sex with any of my fellow passengers. That last observation was not uncommon for me in public places, but I still consider my lack of libido during this flight a valid symptom of my sudden transition to menopause.
Back in the corner, I turned to my seatmate, focused on her mouth, and wondered how much gum they allow in carry-on anyway. Could someone use gum, instead of a potato-smasher, as a weapon? She made much more noise with her gum than I’ve ever made with my potato-smasher.
When the plane started flying horizontally forward again, passengers removed their seatbelts and discovered the secret cabin. They swarmed in droves toward my utopia, and I never got back in. I had cat dander; the “Stupid” screaming “No” boy; gum-popping; and the tune “Heaven” in my head until we landed…
Lord help me get away From this misery
How far is heaven
I know I need to change (seats)
This ain’t livin' This ain’t heaven.
I optimistically decided that the rest of my flight was an opportune time to plan ahead. I jotted down the following trendsetting turbulent travel coping techniques. (That’s quite a mouthful isn’t it!)
The first thing I vow to do on my next flight before I even take my seat, is to put a sign on the lavatory door that says, "Do Not Enter." (It’s my escape pod) … And I Will DOiT.
Travel Sanity
Life-Back-DOiT
Here is your first Life-Back-DOiT Darlin.’
May this, and subsequent DOiTs at the end of each chapter inspire you with uncommon knowledge and skillful mastery of your joyous journeys through the remainder of your life.
On your next flight, if you’re allergic to the pet in front of you: slyly bark or meow occasionally. There’s really no purpose for this, but I can tell you from experience that it does make time pass more quickly.
If your seat neighbors are annoying, laugh hysterically for five seconds, stop, then glare at them. I guarantee they will stop popping their gum, for a fleeting moment anyway.
The following is a list of essential items to include in your carry-on should you (or I ever) fly again. I believe in sharing, unlike some seat- hogging passengers, and am happy to share these suggestions for your very own…
Travel Sanity Kit:
Your special wine glass – When you’re in cabin seating (economy) you just get a little wine bottle and plastic cup sans stem. If you chose only one item for your carry-on, a magnificent wine glass is fundamental.
Ear Plugs, or ear pods for your iPod or cassette player (depending on your level of technological evolution).
Writing pad & pen – so you can document your misery like I did. You can at least start revising your Will in case you decide to jump out of the plane. You could tweet or Facebook it, but years from now when you read it in your notebook - made of paper - you’ll LOL louder. Paper never loses power.
Paper Airplane – to target a loud-mouth brat in the back of the head after the 17th time he screams “NO STUPID” at his apathetic mother. That shouldn’t get you in too much trouble if you’re not discovered. Besides, it’s an effective stress reliever, and really fun.
Chewing Gum – Not for keeping your ears clear during take-off & landing, but for revenge should my “friends” someday sit by you! It may keep you from chewing them out by sharing the joy of annoying activity. Practice now; stick with it, and have a smacking gum time becoming a pop star. PTSD Warning: If you sit by me while popping your gum, I will straddle your lap and slap you repeatedly.
Toothbrush – You’ll need it since your luggage won’t arrive for two days. Plus, if you shelter in the private cabin, heck, you have a sink; so why not erase the evidence of a mediocre Merlot.
Potato-Smasher – Just for the stimulating conversation and confusion you’ll provoke when security pulls it from your firm grasp. I’m still wondering what heinous crimes they imagined me committing with a basic kitchen utensil. Still, I’d rather buy three than leave one for the slut who took over my kitchen. If you are insecure about slipping by TSA with your potato-smasher, bring a second one and hide them in boots as boot shapers … odd shape, but it’s likely they’ll let your potato-smashers past security. It’s all in the presentation.
So, check-in early (so you can hurry to wait), and find joy in knowing they don’t sell gum or serve meals in economy anymore. If you anticipate the likely half-day delay, you may want to consider the following make-ahead snack kit.
The COVID Mask trauma unexplainably caused travelers to become aggressive. To express your frustrations passively, use my Snack Tactics to avoid being banned from commercial jets.
Airplane Snacks for Savory Retribution to Obnoxious Passengers:
Potato chips in a crinkly bag. Once it’s quiet on the plane, open the bag, and eat one at a time, searching diligently for each chip.
A tiny shampoo bottle (and a conditioner bottle, and lotion bottle) filled with your favorite wine. You brought your favorite wine glass; put it to good use. (Wash the bottles first.)
An apple & carrots. Make a big crunch and chew with your mouth open to allow the juices to spurt.
Big whole pickles. Snap off a chunk so that pieces go flying with vinegary spittle.
Cooked spaghetti. You know how many slurping sounds you can make with long spaghetti!
I learned these food ideas from previous flights. Thank you, fellow passengers, for the inspiration.
Without intending to seem paranoid, I feel compelled to warn you to never, ever, wear an eye mask. Unless, of course, you have a private compartment. No passenger on your flight has your best interests in mind. While you may not want to, you need to be focused on your surroundings. Keep your eyes open for opportunities to lock yourself in the bathroom for the entire flight. Don’t forget to put a CLOSED sign on the door. Obviously.
What?
There’s nothing wrong with that. There’s usually more than one. Start Your…
DOiT Journal
Sometimes unescapable distractions force you to focus on a better plan. Start by answering these questions:
Do you have a stressful situation you’d like to escape?
What is it?
How can you escape it? (Like, skip backward to get away. Have fun with it.)
What’s something annoying you’d enjoy sharing with the tramp who invaded your life?
How many ways can you use a potato-smasher? Respond to my blog at www.lifebackdoit.com/blog/ with your ideas!
While you read, every time you find an encouraging word you want to remember, write it on a piece of paper & hang it from your smasher with twine or yarn.
Some Potato-Smasher-Words from this chapter:
Virtuous, Mecca, Happy, Ingenious, Paradise, Freedom, Oasis, Shoes, Optimistic, Heaven, Amazing, Complimentary, Compassion, Utopia, LOL, Sharing, Wine.
We’ll find even better words in the following chapters. We’re just getting started, so grab words as you go and make a feel-good list. Hang them from your potato-smasher. I intentionally leave some for you to find, so you can choose freely - like you’re going to do with everything else in your life from now on.
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How to Become a Legend in Your Own Lifetime
“Some people would rather die in their pride than live in their humility” ~Anthony Liccione
Does the thought of being forgotten scare you as much as the possibility of catching an African Sleeping Sickness? It’s natural to let your mind wander irrationally when you think you may die of solitude. Becoming suddenly single can petrify you if you don’t get your act together. Let me guide you through some concepts to enhance your life and legacy before, well … before you are gone, or forgotten.
Learn to find joy in the fact that you were born alone, and you will die alone. Okay, that’s not a joyful thought. But keep reading. You will become wondrously celebrated in this lifetime by using the ideas I’ve shared.
Finding yourself alone gives you freedom for creative reflection. Silence is easy to hear. You need space to live more purposefully. A good old- fashioned void allows your mind to detox, and you can only do that by yourself.
On my first night alone, I wasn’t prepared for what might happen should it get dark in my newly built cabin in the woods. I had forgotten that the sun disappears every night, and I hadn’t covered my windows. This allowed a lewd pervert free access to peer at me throughout the night. I had no escape, and the darker it grew, the more terrified I became.
Our divorce agreement awarded me the cabin, the one we planned from the time we met. He got our house in Northern Virginia where his latest slut girlfriend, her daughter, and three granddaughters dictate his life. I’ve heard she’s stupid, younger, scrawny skinny (with fake boobs), and is lactose intolerant. While sounding cruel, I must admit that the miserable life he is living simply makes me so giddy I sometimes wiggle out a little interpretive dance about it.
In contrast to his saturated life, I live alone in my mountain cabin secluded on 15 wooded acres, overlooking the lake. Sounds alluring, doesn’t it? But living by myself for the first time, especially at night in the middle of nowhere, was simply horrifying. My brain knew I needed sleep and responded with - may I offer you some irrational fears about perverts in the woods? Or how about a selection of bad memories from the past 10 years?
Obviously, I couldn’t sleep in the bed. That’s the first place an attacker looks. Besides, I had no idea which box annexed my sheets. So, I pulled a huge bean bag up the stairs into the kitchen. It was the only room with just one window.
I turned on all the lights and gathered my weapons, then realized the prowlers could see me, so I turned off the lights. I plopped myself down between open cabinet doors, in the safety of darkness, with my flashlight and steak knife. Pulling a blanket to my chin, I wrapped the end of it around my head so that only my eyes and nose were visible to creeps lurking outside the kitchen window. My thumb was ready on the car panic button so the coyotes could hear my alarm when the outsiders finally got in. My nearest neighbor was a mile away through unpaved woods.
It occurred to me that I could have gone upstairs for safety, but I was already frozen in place, hiding from danger. Besides, murderers could have already broken in and staged their attack from the loft, waiting for me to fall asleep. That wasn’t going to happen. I was rigid and ready, staring at the ceiling, listening to them creaking across the floor. I lay firm on my beanbag, not budging, barely breathing, poised for action as the cracking turbulence grew louder.
By 3:52 am, I was considering duct tape for the stove’s glowing clock which doubled as an eyeball spotlight.
There are 62 brown knots in the wood on my kitchen ceiling. Some are natural defects where tree limbs had grown from the trunk. Nineteen other wood markings are clearly peering faces, eerie creatures, and dangerous animals. By 4:48 am, some of them began gesturing and moving around, making intimidating faces, mocking my paranoia.
I really had to pee. But I knew that if I were to get up before sunlight, it was an irresistible invitation for strangers to enter my fort. The creaking grew louder as the night wore on. Edgar Allan Poe was in my head “Harken! and observe how healthily how calmly I can tell you the whole story.”
The next day, I unpacked boxes and prepared for my second night in the cabin. I hung a tarp over the kitchen window, added a hammer to my defense weaponry, covered the glowing stove clock, and settled in before dusk. Having not slept the night before, I was sure to quickly fall asleep with a well-equipped arsenal on my chest and my glass of wine just under the open sink cabinets by the beanbag.
Why hadn’t I noticed last night how brightly the smoke detector light beamed down on me?
At 2:22 am, I considered shining my flashlight at the window to scare the faint shadow that slowly moved outside the window over my sink. But then what would I do to him, throw the hammer through the window? Undoubtedly, he could see me with the smoke detector glowing on my face.
