Week 8: I’ll do my cryin’ in the…sand.

I’m late.

I am an expert at stating the obvious, you see.  It is daytime.  I am behind on this challenge.  Keeping up with this pace is…well, challenging.  But then again, this IS a challenge.

The past week has been intense, to say the least.  I woke up one morning to the news that a friend from high school, a girl one year my junior, had passed away.  Just like that.  Gone.  I have been tempted to vent but words feel inadequate. As does any emotion.  A young mother of three, gone.  Fine, and then gone. In a few hours. Talk about a reality check. Talk about speechless.

There has been that Play festival that K.K mentioned as well.   It was weeks in rehearsal.  days spent trying to figure out how to get a wig on and off while stumbling around in the dark on stage. Worrying that the other two actors would pull out improvised lines on me during the play (which they did.  Even thought I said not to.  Damn them).  It was autopilot driving from one place to another.  Kids. Drive. Theater. Drive. Work. Drive. Home. Drive. Rehearsal. Drive. Home. Sleep.

Fine, I suppose. Except, the sandstorm of the century descended on Dubai. I’m guessing it heard that North America was experiencing a winter storm and that I was, maybe, mildly envious and said okay lady, here you go.  Lets just say it was three days of inhaling sand, bathing in sand, eating sand. Remember Mission Impossible? And Tom Cruise? Yes, that happened.  For three days straight.  Except no Tom Cruise at the end of it.  If you have never seen a sandstorm, let me tell you this: trying to escape a sandstorm is like trying to escape air.  It is in you, with you, inside your house, on all the surfaces, in your bed, inside your car, in your ears, inside your clothes.  The only thing you can do is stick on some glasses, cover your nose, and go about your business while the wind whips the sand particles onto you (I keep hoping it’s good exfoliation) and you keep trying to peer through the wall of dust in front of the car, trying to make out if there is a car immediately in front of you.

Oh, and the stories.  Yes.  Er…yes.  Those.  Yes.  Percolating.  This week, Mr. Bradbury, I win.

2015. Dubai sandstorm without Tom Cruise in it.
2015. Dubai sandstorm without Tom Cruise in it.
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