I've been away from blogging.
Well, this isn't true. My other blog has been officially pronounced dead, and this one has been subject to lengthy entries that will never be published and will just remind me and only me of how I felt about serious level-10 things during the week after my stressful vacation.
It's been a stressful week. My doctor diagnosed me as "freaking out" and gave me a lovely sleep-aid that seems to have set things a bit straighter. I'm feeling less desperate and less obsessed and less likely to dramatically quit my job and pack my things and volunteer for a science-y boat expedition for which I'd work for free and meet new people and forget everything and realize that life doesn't have to be like this.
She said "Please do not go back to work today. I'm afraid you might quit your job. And please do not be alone for a few days. And hide your credit card. And don't make any big decisions. Please."
That was good advice, because yesterday I was prepared to pack two large suitcases with cameras and outfits and notebooks and leave a note, in pursuit of a log cabin in which I might study for the GRE and Figure. Things. Out. Even though I knew that wasn't what I wanted, I felt like it was the only option.
Because Boston isn't an option, even if someone pays you twice what you make now.
And New York City isn't an option, because you've outgrown it even though its the biggest thing imagineable.
And Boulder isn't an option, because you're not sure you feel about the middle.
And science isn't an option, because when your boss mentions a new project you want to run away and hide because you have so little interest and so little energy and want so badly to be pat on the back and not punched in the face.
I go through this every now and then, and devise schemes involving New Hampshire or floral design or the study of museums. This sort of freak out has been successful four and only four times, and I think its probably happened like 12 times since I was 20 years old.
1. Didn't go to grad school
2. Recorded the mini-album
3. Started the music blog
4. Moved to NYC
What next?
I know I want to be with D, and it scares me that my hormones and/or neurotransmitters can convince me that I don't need him. I know I want to be with him and I want us to be happy, and I know that we can't be happy here forever. Part of me wants us to move somewhere quiet where we can just exist, live slowly, live with substance and not volume. Somewhere where we can sit on a porch and watch kids riding their bikes. Somewhere where days aren't stressful, where employment is simple, where people have conversations under the stars and life feels like vacation.
Can you go to a small town from the big city?
What does he want? What do I want?
I don't know the answer to either of these questions.
I know that I am unsatisfied with the letter of complaint I wrote to the airline. It got really dramatic (surprise!) because I was reminded again of the absurdity of it all and it's one thing after another and it is a saga even in text. Reliving stress is pointless unless they give you the $900 you are demanding.
I know that I want to see 'Superman' tonight.
I know that I want to try the all macaroni-and-cheese restaurant on the Lower East Side.
I know that I want to get up enough motivation to call my NYC friends and see them like I keep saying I will. "I'm not feeling well," I say, as usual, which means "I keep crying for no reason and devising escape plans." I've been introverted. I've been alone. I've been enjoying it because I can't concentrate when I feel like this, and I am terrible company because when I feel like crying I want to cry and not pretend to be happy.
This weekend I want to go see 'Superman,' have mac-n-cheese with J tomorrow night, go to LT's birthday party tomorrow night and hopefully see R because not hanging out with him hasn't been awshummmmm and he's a spazz and causes happiness even when he himself is unhappy, brunch with S on Sunday and hopefully learn how all is hopeless from my eternally beloved Al Gore, and see E who is a masochist and needs advice from someone he doesn't realize is even less healthy. And dinner next week with LL on Monady and T on Tuesday and MF later in the week hopefully but she is nuts too. I will socialize and smile for real and figure things out.
And edit photos, because people keep asking, and there's a lot. Like 100 photos of Stonehenge alone!
Until next week...
Friday, July 14, 2006
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
Personal Day
The Boss sent me home yesterday, forbade me from staying at work any longer. He demanded that I go home after purchasing citrus-y fruits where I would eat the fruits and then sleep.
The combination of jet lag and my monthly vile visitor and the cold/cough/bronchitis whatever from Europe and the humidity and the headache and the poor eating and I think a week's worth of Sudafed and Nyquil and Imitrex destroyed me yesterday.
I am going to call in sick today, but I am going to use a personal day, because I have two of those and two sick days and you just never know when you're going to be really sick.
I think I may just be having insulin issues. That's sort of what it feels like, but I can't really tell because of the jet lag and the headache and the girl things and everything else.
Work has this ridiculous policy wherein you have to call your boss and the front desk when you're going to be out, so that the front desk can you put you on the "absent roster" for the day. This is a good policy, except that nobody is at the desk until like 8:30 or 9:00, so if you wake up at your normal time and realize "Whoa, I'm sick, I'm not going to work today" and then because you are so sick you would like to go back to sleep and sleep for the rest of the day, you can't because you have to wake up again at 8:30 and then possibly again at 9:00 to call in sick.
Hence the blogging.
This will be a good day. I hope to finish "Fortress of Solitude" which *is* an amazing book despite its being so dense. Well worth the time investment, but I recommend finding a paperback because carrying the hardcover throughout Europe wasn't the best idea. I will also catch up on the vacation blogging, and will hopefully add photos to the entries, although that's going to be an insane project. Maybe I'll at least get through Spain. I'll let you know when the photos are there.
I'm thinking about how I wish I had an older sibling. I confronted D last night about the cocaine issue. I said "Look, I don't think that it's responsible for people with small children to be (a) doing cocaine and (b) getting into cars with people who have been drinking too much and also doing cocaine." I wanted to make sure that he didn't think that this was acceptable behavior, not for others, but for himself as a parent. I knew that he thought it was acceptable behavior for US to get in the car (which I did not) but did he think it was acceptable behavior for parents of cute, little nieces? He couldn't believe that I was judging his brother and that they are GOOD, GOOD parents, and how dare I? but he also understood, and said that no, he would never do that if he had kids. I said "Do you think its good that your brother smokes pot in front of your little nieces?" He insisted that his brother is a good parent, which he is in many ways. I said "If your brother smokes pot in front of our 13 year old someday will you tell him not to?" He said his brother would never do such a thing, but yes, he would tell him not to. I guess I wanted to make sure that D knows that he's marrying McGruff and that I have a firm opinion about this sort of thing, and that I won't budge. I realize that kids will experiment and that there's no way to avoid it, but I don't want to set the example that it's ok. And I don't want to be irresponsible about drunk driving etc. when there are little people who are depending on only me.
Phew. It went well.
But it got me to thinking how I wish that I had an older sibling sometimes.
Someone to look up to, to believe in, a model who in your eyes can do no wrong.
Someone to emulate.
I think that when you're the oldest you end up emulating your parents, and you end up being over-resposible and cautious and neurotic and grow up too fast. You study too much and worry about things. You worry about your younger siblings. You have nobody to idolize, and nobdy to learn from. You don't have the opportunity to learn that if you mess up things will still turn out ok. You don't get to learn that doing cocaine doesn't affect your life in any way and that you'll still have a beautiful wife and children. You don't have someone who is infallible in your eyes.
And then you end up making huge mistakes as an adult (you rebel, hard) because you played it too safe as a kid.
I never rebelled in the classic ways. I've never done cocaine. I tried some lesser things with Sister but they had no effect. I drank all the time when I graduated from college. I was in very risky relationships. I destroyed my heart and damaged myself probably forever. I gave up on grad school because I was burnt out and here I am, happy anyway and most likely happier.
But I can't let go of that feeling that I am too conservative and/or lame, that I don't understand how the world is because I worry about things like drugs and helmetless biking in the city.
And I am lame because when I travel I come back and ask all of these questions because travelling gives you the distance you need to reevaluate your entire life.
And you wonder, when you land, why being home is the last place you want to be.
But NR is moving here, so all will soon be right.
The combination of jet lag and my monthly vile visitor and the cold/cough/bronchitis whatever from Europe and the humidity and the headache and the poor eating and I think a week's worth of Sudafed and Nyquil and Imitrex destroyed me yesterday.
I am going to call in sick today, but I am going to use a personal day, because I have two of those and two sick days and you just never know when you're going to be really sick.
I think I may just be having insulin issues. That's sort of what it feels like, but I can't really tell because of the jet lag and the headache and the girl things and everything else.
Work has this ridiculous policy wherein you have to call your boss and the front desk when you're going to be out, so that the front desk can you put you on the "absent roster" for the day. This is a good policy, except that nobody is at the desk until like 8:30 or 9:00, so if you wake up at your normal time and realize "Whoa, I'm sick, I'm not going to work today" and then because you are so sick you would like to go back to sleep and sleep for the rest of the day, you can't because you have to wake up again at 8:30 and then possibly again at 9:00 to call in sick.
Hence the blogging.
This will be a good day. I hope to finish "Fortress of Solitude" which *is* an amazing book despite its being so dense. Well worth the time investment, but I recommend finding a paperback because carrying the hardcover throughout Europe wasn't the best idea. I will also catch up on the vacation blogging, and will hopefully add photos to the entries, although that's going to be an insane project. Maybe I'll at least get through Spain. I'll let you know when the photos are there.
I'm thinking about how I wish I had an older sibling. I confronted D last night about the cocaine issue. I said "Look, I don't think that it's responsible for people with small children to be (a) doing cocaine and (b) getting into cars with people who have been drinking too much and also doing cocaine." I wanted to make sure that he didn't think that this was acceptable behavior, not for others, but for himself as a parent. I knew that he thought it was acceptable behavior for US to get in the car (which I did not) but did he think it was acceptable behavior for parents of cute, little nieces? He couldn't believe that I was judging his brother and that they are GOOD, GOOD parents, and how dare I? but he also understood, and said that no, he would never do that if he had kids. I said "Do you think its good that your brother smokes pot in front of your little nieces?" He insisted that his brother is a good parent, which he is in many ways. I said "If your brother smokes pot in front of our 13 year old someday will you tell him not to?" He said his brother would never do such a thing, but yes, he would tell him not to. I guess I wanted to make sure that D knows that he's marrying McGruff and that I have a firm opinion about this sort of thing, and that I won't budge. I realize that kids will experiment and that there's no way to avoid it, but I don't want to set the example that it's ok. And I don't want to be irresponsible about drunk driving etc. when there are little people who are depending on only me.
Phew. It went well.
But it got me to thinking how I wish that I had an older sibling sometimes.
Someone to look up to, to believe in, a model who in your eyes can do no wrong.
Someone to emulate.
I think that when you're the oldest you end up emulating your parents, and you end up being over-resposible and cautious and neurotic and grow up too fast. You study too much and worry about things. You worry about your younger siblings. You have nobody to idolize, and nobdy to learn from. You don't have the opportunity to learn that if you mess up things will still turn out ok. You don't get to learn that doing cocaine doesn't affect your life in any way and that you'll still have a beautiful wife and children. You don't have someone who is infallible in your eyes.
And then you end up making huge mistakes as an adult (you rebel, hard) because you played it too safe as a kid.
I never rebelled in the classic ways. I've never done cocaine. I tried some lesser things with Sister but they had no effect. I drank all the time when I graduated from college. I was in very risky relationships. I destroyed my heart and damaged myself probably forever. I gave up on grad school because I was burnt out and here I am, happy anyway and most likely happier.
But I can't let go of that feeling that I am too conservative and/or lame, that I don't understand how the world is because I worry about things like drugs and helmetless biking in the city.
And I am lame because when I travel I come back and ask all of these questions because travelling gives you the distance you need to reevaluate your entire life.
And you wonder, when you land, why being home is the last place you want to be.
But NR is moving here, so all will soon be right.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
Ham
You see, the thing is that I think I may be over NYC.
D suggested that we go to this pirate ship ham celebration on Chelsea Pier tonight.
I looked at him like he had three heads when he asked if I as interested.
"I have no interest," I said.
"Really?"
"It's a celebration of ham," said I.
"But pirates!" he said.
"Yes, but ham."
What I really meant was "There's nothing I want to do more than go grocery shopping, go home, cook something, eat something healthy finally, look at the photos from the trip since I didn't get to yet because we went to the movies last night, sleep, get over the jet lag, get rid of the cough, nurse the headache, get my voice back, and just be at home, because I haven't been at home in forever."
Things have changed. I am trying to figure out if I would be thrilled by the idea of people dressed like pirates on a Tuesday night and socializing with these strangers were I not sick/jet lagged/malnourished.
I think I'm over it.
I might be over it because I've been away, away from those who believe themselves to be ultra-hip, instead around people who "enjoy life" and are happy just being happy, wearing whatever they'd like and doing whatever they'd like with their time, not concerning themselves with hipster playgrounds and not cramming every minute of their lives with transient nonsense.
And therefore I am praying to The Dolphin (I wondered this morning at 6 am if God might be a dolphin) that I get laid off tomorrow.
D suggested that we go to this pirate ship ham celebration on Chelsea Pier tonight.
I looked at him like he had three heads when he asked if I as interested.
"I have no interest," I said.
"Really?"
"It's a celebration of ham," said I.
"But pirates!" he said.
"Yes, but ham."
What I really meant was "There's nothing I want to do more than go grocery shopping, go home, cook something, eat something healthy finally, look at the photos from the trip since I didn't get to yet because we went to the movies last night, sleep, get over the jet lag, get rid of the cough, nurse the headache, get my voice back, and just be at home, because I haven't been at home in forever."
Things have changed. I am trying to figure out if I would be thrilled by the idea of people dressed like pirates on a Tuesday night and socializing with these strangers were I not sick/jet lagged/malnourished.
I think I'm over it.
I might be over it because I've been away, away from those who believe themselves to be ultra-hip, instead around people who "enjoy life" and are happy just being happy, wearing whatever they'd like and doing whatever they'd like with their time, not concerning themselves with hipster playgrounds and not cramming every minute of their lives with transient nonsense.
And therefore I am praying to The Dolphin (I wondered this morning at 6 am if God might be a dolphin) that I get laid off tomorrow.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Vacation Deluge - Edition 1 - Day 1: To London!
And now let the deluge of vacation-related stories begin.
Feel free not to read these, but you should, because there are stories. Lots of them.
This one's going to be a mess because I have mad jet lag right now - got in at like 6:00 last night and woke up at about 4:30 this morning. Awesome.
And so it begins...
We were worried that our flight out would involve some sort of mayhem, because (a) NJ was flooded and we were flying out of Newark and (b) an SUV ran down five pedestrians on a sidewalk on the corner of 47th and 10th! Right by my apartment! I'd never have known had I not been watching the news in order to get information about flight delays out of Newark. Crazy. I ran and looked out the window and yes! Ambulances! News crews! Right on the corner of my block!
The flight was fine despite the floods and bad omen, and we departed without incident from Newark at 10:00 pm.
The flight began with our conversing with this pompous guy from England who claimed to know everything there was to know about everything possible. He was returning from a 5-week long trip through Canada's Inside Passage and told us everything about it. He's a writer/filmmaker who found himself fascinating. He was in desperate need of someone to talk at. I hated him instantly, and he found a captive audience in D. When we told him we were scientists he told us everything he knew about science. He also told us not to go to Bath. "Why would you want to go there?" he asked, cross with us. "Because... of The Baths," I said. "No, no, go to Oxford instead," he said, and promised D the oldest museum in the world that houses the private collection of an eccentric who travelled the world and gathered bizarre objects like shrunken heads. I must admit I was enthused about the shrunken heads, but I had my heart set on Bath. It became apparent, however, that D was more into the idea of Oxford. D talked to this guy (which was awkard given that I was seated between them) for what seemed like eternity.
Luckily he stopped talking when we took off and instead started to whistle.
I'm not kidding. He whistled on the plane.
I was determined to sleep on the plane as we wanted to take in a bit of London that day. I reclined in my seat, and within a few seconds it shot back up. I tried again, and again it happened. I decided to wait a few minutes and then try again. I tried again, and when it shot back up I realized that someone was actually pushing me. I knew there was a child seated behind me, so I decided to turn around and beg the parents to stop their child from pushing my seat. When I turned around, I was shocked to learn that it was an adult who was pushing me.
I thought "What would LBF do?" LBF is assertive. I tried my best to channel LBF.
"Excuse me, what are you doing?"
She played dumb.
"Excuse me, are you pushing my seat?"
"Yes."
"Why are you pushing my seat?"
"Because we are eating dinner."
"No we're not."
"No, see, you can't lean back because of dinner."
"Right, yes, except that we're not eating dinner."
Silence.
"Are you eating dinner?"
"What?"
"Are you actually eating dinner right now?"
"No... but...."
I turned around, because for the love of god what is wrong with people!??!?! I had to turn around because I was about to cry. And then I cried for a bit, because of the whistling and the woman and because I was so tired and wanted so badly to sleep. I rehearsed in my mind what I would say should she push me again post-dinner, and got up the nerve to conjure up the necessary drama. Luckily she didn't push me again, and I was able to get a good three hours of sleep on the flight.
We arrived in London again without incident. We took the Gatwick Express to London. I slept the entire time. Allegedly it took an hour to get to London (it is supposed to take 35 minutes) but it didn't matter to me because more sleep! We transferred to the tube and headed to D's cousin's office to pick up the keys to her apartment.
D didn't remember where it was. We walked around aimlessly, looking for number 88. I let this go on for about five minutes and finally said "Um, D, do you think it might be 33?" I knew it was number 33, because I'd seen it written down earlier that day. D is the kind of guy who likes to know where he is and not have his sense of direction challenged, especially by a girl. I'd hoped he'd just figure it out on his own, but I had limited patience after so much transportation. Once we found the address, we had no idea how to get in. Again, there was some mention of a complicated entrance to her office but he couldn't remember what she'd said. And he didn't know what company she worked for. We walked around, down alleys, without any idea of what to do. Finally we asked a man wearing a suit if we could borrow his phone.
We found D's cousin and she put us in a cab to her apartment.
We dropped off our bags and went to lunch. It was delicious.
We went back to her apartment. We broke one of her toilets instantly. How? No idea. The flushing mechanism just disconnected. And can you fix it? No! Because in London, all flushing-related articles are BEHIND THE WALL for the purposes of aesthetics. We tried to access it through the closet, through the hallway, but no luck!
We took showers and napped for too long.
Then I felt sick. I think that my lunch may have been laced with meat. With only one functioning toilet which we were both afraid to use as we feared breaking it, I just had to suffer.
When D's cousin returned from work, we walked along the river and soaked up the sights. D drank outside because it is allowed there and he was like a kid in a candy store. I took pictures (coming soon).
We ate a gross dinner in Covent Garden. We drank Pimm's (I don't see the big deal). My stomach rebelled, still angry from earlier that day. We walked around a bit more. We didn't get run over but it was difficult to adjust to traffic coming from the wrong direction. London reminded me of Boston, which made me homesick.
We returned to D's cousin's amazing flat and watched some bizarre made-for-TV-esque prequel to Romy and Michelle against which we were powerless.
We tried to sleep on the tall air mattress that caved into the middle when there are two people on it, as though it were a giant piece of memory foam!
And that was Day 1.
Feel free not to read these, but you should, because there are stories. Lots of them.
This one's going to be a mess because I have mad jet lag right now - got in at like 6:00 last night and woke up at about 4:30 this morning. Awesome.
And so it begins...
We were worried that our flight out would involve some sort of mayhem, because (a) NJ was flooded and we were flying out of Newark and (b) an SUV ran down five pedestrians on a sidewalk on the corner of 47th and 10th! Right by my apartment! I'd never have known had I not been watching the news in order to get information about flight delays out of Newark. Crazy. I ran and looked out the window and yes! Ambulances! News crews! Right on the corner of my block!
The flight was fine despite the floods and bad omen, and we departed without incident from Newark at 10:00 pm.
The flight began with our conversing with this pompous guy from England who claimed to know everything there was to know about everything possible. He was returning from a 5-week long trip through Canada's Inside Passage and told us everything about it. He's a writer/filmmaker who found himself fascinating. He was in desperate need of someone to talk at. I hated him instantly, and he found a captive audience in D. When we told him we were scientists he told us everything he knew about science. He also told us not to go to Bath. "Why would you want to go there?" he asked, cross with us. "Because... of The Baths," I said. "No, no, go to Oxford instead," he said, and promised D the oldest museum in the world that houses the private collection of an eccentric who travelled the world and gathered bizarre objects like shrunken heads. I must admit I was enthused about the shrunken heads, but I had my heart set on Bath. It became apparent, however, that D was more into the idea of Oxford. D talked to this guy (which was awkard given that I was seated between them) for what seemed like eternity.
Luckily he stopped talking when we took off and instead started to whistle.
I'm not kidding. He whistled on the plane.
I was determined to sleep on the plane as we wanted to take in a bit of London that day. I reclined in my seat, and within a few seconds it shot back up. I tried again, and again it happened. I decided to wait a few minutes and then try again. I tried again, and when it shot back up I realized that someone was actually pushing me. I knew there was a child seated behind me, so I decided to turn around and beg the parents to stop their child from pushing my seat. When I turned around, I was shocked to learn that it was an adult who was pushing me.
I thought "What would LBF do?" LBF is assertive. I tried my best to channel LBF.
"Excuse me, what are you doing?"
She played dumb.
"Excuse me, are you pushing my seat?"
"Yes."
"Why are you pushing my seat?"
"Because we are eating dinner."
"No we're not."
"No, see, you can't lean back because of dinner."
"Right, yes, except that we're not eating dinner."
Silence.
"Are you eating dinner?"
"What?"
"Are you actually eating dinner right now?"
"No... but...."
I turned around, because for the love of god what is wrong with people!??!?! I had to turn around because I was about to cry. And then I cried for a bit, because of the whistling and the woman and because I was so tired and wanted so badly to sleep. I rehearsed in my mind what I would say should she push me again post-dinner, and got up the nerve to conjure up the necessary drama. Luckily she didn't push me again, and I was able to get a good three hours of sleep on the flight.
We arrived in London again without incident. We took the Gatwick Express to London. I slept the entire time. Allegedly it took an hour to get to London (it is supposed to take 35 minutes) but it didn't matter to me because more sleep! We transferred to the tube and headed to D's cousin's office to pick up the keys to her apartment.
D didn't remember where it was. We walked around aimlessly, looking for number 88. I let this go on for about five minutes and finally said "Um, D, do you think it might be 33?" I knew it was number 33, because I'd seen it written down earlier that day. D is the kind of guy who likes to know where he is and not have his sense of direction challenged, especially by a girl. I'd hoped he'd just figure it out on his own, but I had limited patience after so much transportation. Once we found the address, we had no idea how to get in. Again, there was some mention of a complicated entrance to her office but he couldn't remember what she'd said. And he didn't know what company she worked for. We walked around, down alleys, without any idea of what to do. Finally we asked a man wearing a suit if we could borrow his phone.
We found D's cousin and she put us in a cab to her apartment.
We dropped off our bags and went to lunch. It was delicious.
We went back to her apartment. We broke one of her toilets instantly. How? No idea. The flushing mechanism just disconnected. And can you fix it? No! Because in London, all flushing-related articles are BEHIND THE WALL for the purposes of aesthetics. We tried to access it through the closet, through the hallway, but no luck!
We took showers and napped for too long.
Then I felt sick. I think that my lunch may have been laced with meat. With only one functioning toilet which we were both afraid to use as we feared breaking it, I just had to suffer.
When D's cousin returned from work, we walked along the river and soaked up the sights. D drank outside because it is allowed there and he was like a kid in a candy store. I took pictures (coming soon).
We ate a gross dinner in Covent Garden. We drank Pimm's (I don't see the big deal). My stomach rebelled, still angry from earlier that day. We walked around a bit more. We didn't get run over but it was difficult to adjust to traffic coming from the wrong direction. London reminded me of Boston, which made me homesick.
We returned to D's cousin's amazing flat and watched some bizarre made-for-TV-esque prequel to Romy and Michelle against which we were powerless.
We tried to sleep on the tall air mattress that caved into the middle when there are two people on it, as though it were a giant piece of memory foam!
And that was Day 1.
Jet Lag
I just love getting back from a decent but not great vacation and learning that I skipped jury duty in MA and that I'm being threatened with a fine. The supreme irony of all of this is that I am the only person on the planet who is thrilled by the idea of serving jury duty. I'd volunteer if I could, but I never get called, except in places where I don't live.
Oh how it sucks to be back.
Oh how it sucks to be back.
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