No More Shots On School Nights

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life
(Hamlet)

Last week, when the mania of this month still felt new (and not like a muscular fist of acid in the pit of my stomach) I met up for drinks with E & J, a great couple, and tore into some beers and a few shots - on a school work night. It felt good. I didn't care about functioning the next day. I needed to talk, relax, have a laugh with good friends. We talked about the stuff that often feels like it's missing from my life now - interesting theatre, movies, stuff we'd read, sports, history....you know.
Topics I like.

I went home and flopped into bed. I wasn't (and still am not) sleeping much, but a few restless hours need to be squeezed in somewhere, if only to try and alleviate my current "face of meth" chic.
And I had a dream that I woke up from in tears.

It wasn't a nightmare. That's the only way I can describe it - a dream I woke up from in tears. And I don't even remember the full-fledged plot, or arc of what was happening, just the moment that startled the crap out of me. 

In the dream, I am my current look and age. I am talking to my mother in the kitchen of their house. Everything looks as it does now. I hear the garage door, loud as always. Who the hell is that? After a beat, in walks my dad. But....it's Dad from about 20 years ago. He's just come back from work, in uniform. And even though I'm completely in shock, I run like a child and throw my arms around him. I don't want to let go. Because 30 year old me knows what's coming and wants to protect Dad from 20 years ago. He smiles and eventually peels me off, and says "I'm going upstairs to change" just as he did every night when he got home. He turns and heads up the stairs.
I turn to look at my mom, the source of all comfort and explanations, but she's gone.
Suddenly, the basement door opens a few feet away and Dad comes up. And he looks at me.
We both freeze.
Because he went upstairs just moments ago, and has emerged from the basement. Which is impossible. Dad looks at me, and he looks scared. Like he suddenly understands as well that something is terribly wrong with the world we're in. His eyes are wide. I'm scared too. And again I run and hug him, and this time he holds me like HE doesn't want to let go either.

I woke up in tears.

No more shots on school nights, huh? Everything feels upside down. Like you're trapped in a MC Escher print.

Meanwhile....Still no luck on the apartment front. At this point, I think "it's a year. You can get by for one more year." I am so utterly burnt out on the matter. Needs to be over.

Here's a bit of cheer for us to part with. I would have liked Les Miserables if it had been more like Mean Girls.

Is Apartment Hunting Like Being A Bride?

Let us begin this post with a hilarious bit of information I realized last night.

The three weddings I am attending this year....are back-to-back-to-back over weekends in the fall.

Wow.

I mean. It's great! I love weddings. It will be lots of fun. And really busy. But yes. BUSY. I had better get cracking memorizing all of Beyonce's "Single Ladies" dance moves, because you know I'm going to be putting that to exceptionally good use this autumn.

The apartment hunt continued to dominate the weekend, and after hours of walking about in the cold with a new-to-the-city, uncomfortably-young broker, I was dead on my feet tired. Does going for a lookabout with a broker feel like an exceptionally long and unsexy date to anyone else? You spend hours together, talking about who you are and what you want out of life and living....but you're not attracted to each other (at least not in my case) and nothing fun is going to happen at the end. Sigh. I cannot emphasize enough how much I hate this process.

I found a really cool apartment in the hunt yesterday. Insane view. It's top of my price ceiling, but it's super spacious, the building seems great, in a safe neighborhood close to friends and the train I need to get to work. I was pretty stoked. And then....I kind of deflated. I couldn't help but wonder if there was something better, cheaper, closer out there? And would I find it only after I'd put down a deposit? Now, I'm on a time crunch here. I'm a beggar, not a chooser. But I don't want to just dive into the first available thing either. It's like being a bride, I think. You've been fortunate enough to find your mate. But then with everything else, the dress, the venue, the details.....do you wonder if there's a better option out there? Is it settling to take something that is "really good" rather than "perfect?" Is it OK to get the first dress/apartment you try on? (Granted, this was my 5th apartment, but still.)

(Me to all brides)

Feeling very much at a loss. Maybe I need to grow up, bite the bullet, and drop the deposit. I suspect one of the things making me extra reluctant to do this is the fact that the way this whole situation has gone down is going to end up (once the dust has settled) costing me about $2,000. Money I absolutely do not have. This goes back to the whole feeling terrified/angry/fucked feeling I've been riding since the 23rd. I just don't think any of this is worth it anymore. One more year and out.

HUH - Plans! What Are They Good For? (Absolutely Nothing)

I know it's going to be kind of a dubious Friday when I need a piece of candy before 10am, and it's really, really cold at my desk. Also, this interaction:
Me: Why is it so cold today? Usually it's so warm.
C: I like it.
Me: If I'd known I would have worn a thicker sweater. I'd rather wear a big, fuzzy sweatshirt though. That would be perfect.
C: I wouldn't wear anything!
Me: Oh, wait I'd wear pajamas....hold on, what did you just say?

So that happened. Also I'm currently talking to some guests for Dr. Lumberjack and they're SO COOL. They're company representatives (he reviews a lot of gear and gadgets) and they're friendly and funny and I wish I could come to this meeting too, you know? Obviously I would have nothing to contribute other than a bunch of high-fives and "Yeah, that sounds good!" but I would say it with such enthusiasm they would feel glad of my presence.

I feel like my brain is currently divided into:
60% - Moving anxiety
20% - Work exhaustion
10% - Balancing finances/Getting ready to do taxes
5% - Plans for making my life better
3% - Basic motor functions
1% - Men
1% - Dogs in people clothes

I emailed my mother the other day, basically telling her my "plans" and as always, felt the need to put the *but nothing in the last five years has worked out as I'd hoped, so don't really bank on this* addendum. I hate that my dreams require disclaimers. Does this mean I'm really grounded or totally burnt-out and jaded?

I made a commitment to my job for at least one year, and I fully intend to honor that. And when I sign my lease, I will honor that as well. So imagine that I sign a new one year lease, and end up knocking out more time, and cultivating my experiences. When the dust settles, it will be March of 2014, and I will be 31 years old. And by then I will be ready for a change. And just to add a certain masochistic element into the mix (because it's Friday!) I looked up real estate in my price range in a few of the places I'm considering....for what will get me a small room in New York City, elsewhere I can have....oh geez. Pretty much everywhere I am looking I can get a 2 bedroom in the heart of downtown for even less. That. Sucks.

But, hey these are my plans. They've got about as much use as when we were kids and we learned to play the recorder in music class. Absolute zero.

Not A Good 30 Countdown

In 30 days, I have to be living somewhere else.

And I am a wreck about it.

Moving is the worst. We've all been there. But moving with little time, and whole lot of uncertainty, is the most torturous moving hell there is.

Every night for nearly a week now I've been waking up in a panic at 4am, unable to get back to sleep. It's always something. I need to find a good place! Where? How much? Is it near transportation? Is it safe? How will I get my stuff there? My stomach hurts. How much will that cost? Is it loud? Are there bugs? How will my work commute be affected? I should get all my financial paperwork together. Oh, God my finances are solid, but by no means impressive. I can't breathe. Do they want to see my taxes? Where the fuck are my tax papers? I should get a letter of employment. I guess I'm spending the weekend at Kinkos. Why is this happening? This fucking sucks! And so on and so on, until it's around 5:30pm and I've worn myself out, and I think I could fall back asleep, but then it's 6:15am and I have to wake up for work (because I have new, early hours to cover for the group that got laid off last week). Needless to say, several colleagues have felt the need to point out how exhausted I look. Thank you co-workers. I know I'm tired. And thanks to your godlike powers of observation, I am glad to know I also look like death. Your words are anything but comforting.

Yesterday the dam kind of broke. I spent the entire day at work emailing, texting and calling realtors, Craigslist weirdos, and anyone who might have a place for me to live March 1st. Apartments were already gone. Apartments were obviously scams. Realtors said it was too early and I needed to do this in about two weeks - which I understand logistically, but the idea of ABSOLUTELY MUST finding a good new home in such a short period of time shatters my nerves. Also it's the fact that I work full time and getting to see these places takes time I don't have. At all.

After work I rushed to see an apartment that fit in my price range and is in one of the neighborhoods I'm considering. It. Was. Terrible. It was about 20 minute walk from the nearest train with a charming view of....the expressway. 5th floor walk up. Shitty hallways. The place itself was basically a tiny bedroom, a stove and a toilet. Doors hung off hinges. The walls reeked of Axe body spray. I politely said "Oh hell to the no" and ran away. I know I can't afford much, but I work hard and I'd prefer not to spend my off time living in squalor. I walked the slow, sad slog back to the train, and felt so overwhelmed, so totally fucked, and so hopeless that I just sobbed all the way home. In under a week two huge pillars of my personal stability - work and home - have undergone drastic and unpleasant changes. I don't know if they'll bounce back, to be honest. I guess we'll just have to see.

The Anxietyville Horror

Between this past Wednesday and Friday, my day-to-day world took a serious rocking, the fallout of which has been some persistent anxiety issues. Nobody is dead. The world is not over. It's just exceptionally unpleasant, and has caused enough worry and freak outs that I have yet to sleep through the night without drugs, or properly digest a meal. My stomach is a swirling, acid sailor's knot, and my back feels like a minefield of small explosions. My face? Let's not even start (bridge troll).

All I want to do is this:

And stay there. Under the blanket.

So what happened? To make two very long stories short:
1.) A huge round of layoffs at my work. With apparently more to come. Really good people lost their jobs, and as Office Bro said "Of course you're sad, J. You have a soul." Also that means EVERYONE is on edge and now I work much earlier hours to cover the guy who trained me. He was with the company for around 12 years. I obviously don't want to leave/lose my job right now, but I've got to say that sure as hell doesn't inspire much confidence in building a career here.

2.) I HAVE TO MOVE. Unexpectedly. Heart-breakingly. I'm still numb from the news. So the whole stress of finding a place (huge) coupled with the logistics of the actual move (rent a truck? plead with friends?) has me absolutely bricking it. I just....don't know when the hell I'm going to be able to find the time to deal with this, you know? When the phrase "What am I going to do?" plays through your head non-stop on a demonic, sing-songy loop, the idea of a blanket and a cage looks more and more appealing.

Several people have been like "Just leave New York" but honestly, it's so much more complicated than that. I get it. I do want to leave at some point in the next 1-2 years. I talk about it often, I know. I'll be ready to go soon enough. But for now, I need to be here. Today at least, I have a job that I verbally committed at least a year to. And I still see the potential to grow here. I'm scared as fuck, but I'm pretty damn smart. An income that keeps me afloat. I can get back to my parents in under an hour by plane if there's an emergency. I'm hoping to have a play up later this year. There's a lot of stuff I have committed to, and want to see through to the natural conclusion.

You SHOULD Be Sorry, Goddammit!!

I really dislike seeing the phrase, or hashtag (for the kids) #sorrynotsorry after a statement.

For example:
"i like taking advantage of people. i hate being sober. #sorrynotsorry"

The above is sadly a real tweet. Besides the fact that the person sounds like a complete and utter idiot (teehee! I'm such a drunk! Young and evil! YOLO! lol) It makes me want to backhand them...hard.

Me, after backhanding some idiots.

Why? Because knowing how to give a real, sincere apology is important, and I'm starting to think people don't know how to do it anymore.

No one is perfect, but it is thoroughly unpleasant to realize that someone can be incapable of admitting they were wrong, or apologizing when they are. Nothing turns me off quite so sharply as opinions being presented as facts, or a refusal to consider that you might be wrong.

We've become a world of  I’m sorry, but . . .which is the most insincere, bullshitty, strings-attached, "but I really AM right" way to apologize. Same goes for I'm sorry you feel that way, which is pretty much saying "it sucks that your feelings are so wrong!" Neither of these are legitimate, genuine apologies. What happened to accepting responsibility for failure as well as success? Or understanding that we're not always going to be right?

I'm trying to make a conscious move towards apologizing more freely, and not being a stubborn jackass, which is something I have the unfortunate tendency to do. This doesn't mean I'm turning into one of those doormat girls who says "sorry" like a knee-jerk reflex (because that doesn't do any good either) but to be more gracious about admitting that I frequently don't know the answer.

So, what's a good apology?
"I'm sorry I was late doing that thing you asked me to do."
The end. Don't punctuate with excuses. Simply admit you didn't do it when you were supposed to. If you really feel the need to say something else, I'd suggest trying something along the lines of "I'm sorry I didn't do that thing you asked me to do. I don't know where my brain has been this week. I'll take care of it right now." That way you acknowledge that you've done wrong, and you'll rectify the situation as soon as possible. Boom. Done.

And if you're not sorry? DON'T SAY YOU ARE if you don't mean it! If you're not sorry, you need to have a discussion as to why not. Just don't be a dick about it. And honestly? It's OK to be wrong. Humility is a very sexy quality that doesn't go unnoticed by good people.

When Your Heart Isn't As Wild As You'd Hoped...

I am an urban desk monkey. And it drives me mad.

This could easily be me.

 

Because that's not who I am. Or at least who I still don't think I am, but now I'm not so sure. Let me explain.

Have you ever heard of the Tennessee Williams play Stairs to the Roof? Not many have. It's not big in the cannon (although I really love some of his more wacky and obscure stuff and I think you should too), and I think the play is more well known for its subtitle which is:

A Prayer for the Wild at Heart That Are Kept in Cages

This subtitle is more than a little dramatic, and sweeping, and has been the subject of many an ill-conceived tattoo...just ask Angelina Jolie. BUT I still really dig it. I'm a sucker. And as someone currently lodged behind a desk in midtown, I feel like I kind of get it. Who doesn't want to escape the menial existence they didn't really plan on, and take off for the horizon? To reclaim your life and your wild heart? I know I sure as hell do. I like fresh air, open skies, and adventure. And jogging around the reservoir in Central Park isn't ticking all the boxes anymore.

Let's hike this.

 

I would also be pleased to be here.

 

I thought I was doing my brutal time as a young mind in a tough city, who would eventually do well enough to live in a place where I can see the stars in the sky at night. But that time hasn't come for me yet, so I have had to find my precious time away in smaller doses. A summer in the woods. A day trip to hike somewhere out of the city. A few days upstate near a farm. And most recently, a weekend at Cape Cod.

Cape Cod is really lovely, a fine example of picturesque New England. I'm all about that shit. Tiny homes and dark, shiny wooden interiors, clean salty air, and paths of every variety (stone, sand, straw) to follow. The best part came from taking the dogs for a nice little jaunt around near the docks, then off into the marshes. It was really beautiful. I was taking breaths so deep you'd think I was a struggling asthmatic - but I was just getting the biggest hits of fresh air I could. Perfect. Happy. 

 

Until we got home and found a tick on one of the dogs.

 

And I am utterly shamed to say I kind of freaked out. I was like "Check the dogs! Check yo'self! Then check again because Lyme Disease is horrible and I don't want it! Blergh!!"

 

I went from Miss L.L.Bean to Upper Wet Rag in under 60 seconds. And I hate that. Why couldn't I just chill out? Why did I have to get all squirmy when bugs were involved? Argh. Even if they are blood-sucking leeches of disease, I am shamed. The same thing has happened when I've gone surfing. It's all fun and games until someone sees a jellyfish, and by that time I have probably made it back to the car, because I have run the fuck away so damn fast. I can't really be that wild at heart when so many things in nature freak me out, can I? It makes me feel like some spoiled little city dweeb, whose closest "country" experience is some kind of Disney-fied Country Bears hot freaking mess.

 

Then again, I can't deny that I have spent the majority of my life as a city person. Mass transit is my 6th sense. "Bitch, please" is my blood type. To deny this HUGE part of my personality would be to quash the reality of who I am. What's the happy medium? Is it suburban living? If that the case....ok. Obviously I haven't figured it out yet, or I would have gone there a long time ago. Until then, this city girl will continue on, boats against the current, ready to exchange her sexy high heels for hiking boots whenever she possibly can....as long as we can keep the involvement of bugs to a minimum. Ick.