What’s Wrong With Swapping A Sandwich?

Or, what’s wrong with me?

Mother and Sister are coming to visit this weekend. While I am REALLY looking forward to seeing them, I am dreading the usual “I’m up for anything” and then the outright rejection or passive aggressive “sure, that could be nice” in response to anything I suggest. We can’t do anything that involves money, as there seems to be none these days for any of us, myself included. We can’t do anything that involves walking. We can’t do anything that involves too long a subway ride, because it will be too hot or there will be too many stairs or people, which is fine with me, because why endure a long journey when there are amazing things nearby?

I’ve been frantically searching for something free for us to do. I’ve come up nearly empty handed, which is bizarre given that it is summer and summer in New York City means free entertainment.

Well, there is free entertainment but not the sort of entertainment that will be entertaining to Mother. Understandable. New York City isn't exactly parent-friendly.

Mother is, in fact, easily entertained. She enjoys nothing more than gazing upon her children interacting and enjoying one another’s company. That's awesome. Rather than state that she would prefer to just sit in the apartment and exist, she says “I’ll do whatever everyone else wants to do.”

There’s free classical music on Barge Music this weekend. I thought this would be an excellent use of the afternoon, until it occurred to me that it is Father who likes classical music and that this may not be fun for anyone other than me.

I wanted to find something quirky, something that would only happen in New York City, something that would be new and entertaining to Mother.

You can imagine the thrill I experienced when I came upon a listing for a Sandwich Swap in Prospect Park! You bring a sandwich, cut in half, and submit it to the judges. You keep the other half of your sandwich. You are then given half of someone else’s sandwich. You get to eat portions of two different sandwiches (or more, if you bring more than one), drink beverages, and are given cupcakes! A giant weird picnic in Prospect Park! Perfect!

D and I are enthusiastic. We’ve been talking about our sandwiches – will we be crazy? Will we be gourmet? Will we just bring a peanut butter sandwich? Will we put potato chips in the sandwich? The possibilities (and sandwich-related discussions) are endless.

Sister said “But how will you know if someone has peed in your sandwich?”

I’m sure Mother is thinking the same thing, as she has declared that she’s not into the sandwich party. Sister said “Mom, you can just eat all of yours if you’re worried.”

But this defeats the point.

Visiting New York City and not wanting to do anything defeats the point.

We will most likely end up sitting around in the apartment on a beautiful Saturday afternoon (although there is the threat of rain, which means no sandwiches! no! NO!) while everyone else is frolicking and swapping sandwiches and listening to classical music and reveling in Charlie Parker and sipping drinks on the roof and seeing art and the world. I suppose it's not a bad thing to relax. But being forced to relax by someone other than yourself isn't really realxing.

Why are we so afraid? I'm afraid of things. I'm afraid of too many things. I can't fault anyone for being afraid.

But what’s so scary about sandwiches?

You Don't Bring Me Blog Posts Anymore

It's been ages.

Work is mostly to blame. It's been busy. I've had to spend my time reading instead of writing, organizing instead of creating, re-organizing in preparation for other things rather than focusing on personal things. This is not to say that I haven't engaged in the occasional side project. While I have been too busy to blog and write emails and read other blogs (and oh how I miss them), I have had time to make phone calls and investigate options for the future and to contemplate being poor but happy.

What's been happening:

Thinking (and talking, finally!) about the future, conversations about money and its importance or non-importance and career changing and preparing and freaking out and tears and hugs and a lot of "It will be ok, no matter what, for richer or poorer, right?"

Movies and more movies, involving dead bodies on horses and snake bites. I'm not kidding. I saw "Snakes on A Plane" yesterday (snake bites galore) and then "The Three Burials Of Melquiades Estrada" last night which also featured a snake bite, as well as a dead body on a horse. Today I saw "The Illusionist" which featured a dead body on a horse. I loved "Snakes on A Plane" because it was bad but still entirely entertaining. I loved "Three Burials" because it was different. I loved "The Illusionist" mainly because I love Ed Norton, not to mention the new $6 matinee at AMC Theaters, the only matinees in NYC! Yes, you have to be there before noon but who cares? It's a five minute walk away, and I'll wake up early to save $5 on a movie ticket. I also saw "Tsotsi" which didn't feature a snake bite or dead body on a horse, but did feature the best possible ending. I love DVD's with bonus features, especially ones with alternate endings.

Housewarming party, five months after moving. Everyone was very responsible and brought drinks and foods and good moods. We are drowning in leftovers. I was drowning in happiness, as I felt for the first time that I might miss NYC if/when we move. Parties are what I miss most from MA. I was thrilled to see friends mix and exchange stories and email addresses, and was devastated when people started to leave. All of the guests had a wonderful time. The apartment thrived with 30 bodies in it. We walked quietly from the living room to the roof, careful not to bother people on a Thursday night. At 2:30 am I thought it wise to start playing the piano, and thought it fine for the cops to be called. It was worth the risk! They were not called, so R and I sang the entirety of Abbey Road blissfully off-key. I stumbled when I woke up at 9:00 am, still drunk and so very thankful that I'd taken the day off. D and I cleaned all day and did nothing else.

First self-help book of all time. D suggested he read it out loud with me, so he can "understand more" what I'm going through. His saying that was all the help I needed. Whenever he reads it I start to cry. We're not making good progress through the book but are making good progress. Thank you, Amazon.com Visa card.

Frustrated with NYC, as usual. The idea of school makes me not want to spend money, so I am not allowing myself to do anything because everything here is so expensive. Thus I am bored and moody and distressed.

I invited E over for dinner tonight (I shall make quiche, as there are leftover quiche ingredients from the party) so as to save money. I thought that I'd make something other than quiche - something carrot-y and then something potato-y, as D and I have vowed to "cook more" and "expand our repertoire" - and therefore went to Food Emporium to buy carrots and potatoes and rosemary and oregano and shallots. I worried about the shallots. "What if they don't have them?" I asked D. "They'll have them," he assured me. So I went, and not only did they NOT have shallots, but they had no fresh spices other than mint! NONE! Wtf!??! I began walking towards the Amish Market in search of fresh spices, but turned around because I feel like (a) Saving money is very expensive when it involves grocery shopping ALL THE TIME and (b) I was afraid I might make a very, very bad scene if they didn't have shallots, and who am I to distress The Amish? Now I am blogging instead with all the time I'd put aside for cooking, which is ok but lately I've been feeling useless and unproductive. Cooking is a good way to feel productive because it's a finite time investment for a concrete outcome.

I've set boundaries, and am feeling more sane. Sane enough to have the housewarming party. Everyone kept saying "How are you?" and I said "I think fine, because if I wasn't fine you wouldn't be here" and everyone nodded with understanding.

I'm not going to be laid off any time in the near future. There was an announcement. Some were happy, some are still uncertain. I wanted to cry because I'd been looking forward to some time off, to collecting unemployment, to figuring things out, to using the rent money to travel instead.

I need a sustain pedal. The bizarre thing is that I used to have two of them. Now, tragically, I have none.

I haven't seen art in ages. I haven't done much of anything. I've gone to a couple comedy shows, seen some movies, had some friends over, but haven't done anything uniquely New York for quite some time. Have I exhausted the possibilities? Am I exhausted? Does "saving money" mean that I don't get to have fun? Do I even want to have fun?

It's muggy but it's been utterly perfect, so I can't complain.

I'm reading "Fear of Flying" and it helps.

I sent my Canon in to be repaired, but I'm not sure if there's something wrong with it or if there's something wrong with me. I agonized over insuring it. "But what if something happens to it?" the UPS Girl said. "But really, what could happen to it? If it breaks in shipping then they'll just fix it when it arrives." "It could get lost." "Do things get lost?" "No, but it could." It is so expensive to insure things, but what if? WHAT IF? I'd be devastated. I decided to insure half, because I'm saving money, but if I lose thousands of dollars, that wouldn't be saving money. I'm lost without it, though, and it's made the weekend challenging.

I'm depressed today. Not horribly, but mildly. I don't know what to do with myself. I don't know what to do with my time. I don't know what to say to people. I don't know if I would suck as a photographer. I don't know what I think about being in school. I don't know where to go on vacation. I don't know when to go, because I don't know when I have to be here to hear news. I feel like I have no control. I'm waiting for other things. I'm waiting for other people. I'm trying to consider other people but maybe I shouldn't.

Work is driving me insane. I keep wanting to scream. My friends are leaving. They're leaving for the same reasons I want to leave, but I can't leave because its not just me. It's me and D and the lease and the bonus and insecurity.

I feel no sense of security or comfort right now. I guess that's normal, or so claims the book. These are the sorts of things one takes for granted.

I just want to cry, but I don't know why, and you can't cry for no reason when there's somebody else around.

But its not really for no reason, right? These are all good reasons.

I cried yesterday because Mother was talking about The Holidays, and where she is going to be and where he is going to be and where we could be, but where would we stay? And who knows if I'm even going to be there and not with D's family? And then "Oh..." and the sound of sadness without actually saying "You really should be with us this Christmas" and then "Yes, I know, but I don't know..." and seriously, I don't know. I don't know what I think. I don't know why I think that. And so I mentioned to D "Can we talk about Christmas? I know its early..." and he told me that his parents want to go to Vietnam or Thailand and that we should go too, and I cried because we are trying to save money! And getting to Thailand or Vietman is not trivial! And why can't they just stay here? Don't they want to see us? It's Christmas! Can't you ask them? I can't live this kind of life! And we can't plan, because there is no planning, and so we can't do anything, and are neutralized, and its ridiculous, and all other vacations are on hold because we have to wait for them to decide which will be at the last minute when tickets are expensive and then we will not have gone on vacation and, well, tears.

So yes. The weekend has been grand, and I am really looking forward to work tomorrow because I will have something else to think about.

Ah, yes, aren't you glad to have my neurotic blog back?