Perpetual State of Flux

Who gets sick in September?

Like sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever (well, that last bit in my case amounted to me repeatedly asking Ted if I felt warm - I didn't), sick?

Me!  But when it comes to me, one just doesn't get a September head cold because that would be too simple.  I need drama people!  So, of course, when the sore throat set in on Saturday afternoon, I was also blessed with my (fill in annoying one of the dozen euphemism for menses here) and a sick stomach.

AWESOME! 

Sunday evening when my neti pot started to fail me, I decided to take a decongestant.  I read the box, shrugged and popped a pill and then told Ted I was afraid what I'd just taken (Zyrtec D) would keep me up.

Ted took the package from my hands and gave me one of his signature "you dumb ass" looks and informed me that it would almost certainly keep me up.

"It contains ephedrine.  Remember when everyone was popping mini thins in college?"

"Yeah?"

"That was ephedrine."

Suddenly, I flashed back to sophomore year in college - piling into Dave A's Toyota station wagon and setting off for a rave in some abandoned supermarket in Indiana.  It's not a bad memory but one that vaguely tastes of blue raspberry Charm's blow pops.  And certainly not one I cared to relive some thirteen years later with a head cold and death cramps.

"Oh, God. I'm an idiot."

Decongested but wide awake, I managed to drift off to sleep around 8 am the next morning after calling into work. 

The point is, I haven't been feeling all that great.  Last week I was a mess of nerves and anxiety...work was overwhelming me and I spent a few days in that dark place I sometimes go.  I tried to write but apart for a few heated political rants I thought best to leave unpublished, I've been seriously blocked. 

Depressed, over-worked, sick and suffering from writer's block, one might think it couldn't get any worse.  (Oh but it can! Don't you all know me by now???)  Wearing my last pair of contact lenses, I walked down the street to the optometrist and put in my contact lens order.  Spying the eye glasses case, I decided it was the perfect time to shop for a new set of frames only to discover that like Tina Fey I bear a strikingly similar resemblance to a certain ifitwasn'tsofrigteninghowunqualifiedsheisitmightbelaughable Vice Presidential nominee. 

And with that, I decided that for now and at least the next three months, I'll be sticking to my contact lenses.  I am in no shape to be making these frightening discoveries. 

No, sir.

In fact, now might be a good time to look into Lasik.

It's a good thing I don't own a machete umbrella.

I cannot hide what I am. I must be sad when I have cause, and smile at no man’s jests.        
- William Shakespeare

This morning, my husband sent me a beautiful bouquet of flowers.  Having spent so many years with a woman prone to short bouts of depression, my husband knows he can't fix my moods.  Still, when he senses that I'm really low and in my very dark place he likes to send me flowers as a reminder that he loves me. This is particularly nice for two reasons - 1. it reminds me that I'm not alone in the world (as I often feel in my dark place) and 2. I have something beautiful to look upon throughout my day. 

A short time after the flowers arrived, someone who shall remain nameless (but could easily be described as the paper pushing blowhard (who may or may not be my boss) with a knack for making grossly inappropriate comments (at least HE doesn't stare at my chest) and handing off the few responsibilities he actually has onto everyone else all the while collecting a ridiculous mid-six-figure salary therefore perpetuating one of the greatest heists ever known to the company),* walks by my office.

"Looks like someone is in the dog house. What'd he do?"

It's important to note that I am currently into day four of what feels like the worst mood I have ever found myself in.  Just last Friday, as I walked through the rain on the sidewalks of Manhattan, I secretly wished that my umbrella was a machete.  Secondly, the last time Ted sent me his "just because" flowers, this same someone stopped by my office to deliver this same comment.

So, you might imagine how pleased I was to hear it again.

"No," I replied, "He doesn't mess up. That's typically me." (That first bits a lie. The second is mostly true).

"That's not true. All husbands mess up at some point."

"Well, it certainly may be true that you are exactly the kind of man who only sends flowers to his long suffering wife when you do something wrong but thankfully for me, I married the kind of person who recognizes the value of a thoughtful gesture."

Okay, that's what I wanted to say (although perhaps a little less smug) but instead I just nodded, chewed my tongue off and prayed he would move on.  He made some last comment about their beauty and went on his way. 

Yes, it's a very good thing one has yet to invent the umbrella machete. A very good thing indeed.

*As opposed the other paper pushing blowhard (who may or may not be my other boss) with a knack for making grossly inappropriate comments (all the while staring at my chest) and handing off the few responsibilities he actually has onto everyone else all the while collecting a ridiculous mid-six-figure salary therefore perpetuating the second largest heist ever known to the company).

I'm still not convinced he's not another pervy old man though.

This morning I step into the elevator with one of the building's employees (I think he work in maintenance but I'm not certain. I think he oversaw the changing of a light bulb in my office one time.  Ted would say that's cause he's in a union).

As the door's close, he looks at me and says "It's a bit nippy outside today?"

Resisting the temptation to look down at my chest (nippy?) while my racing mind tries to process the many different things this man could be implying, I smile and reply, "It is but I like it."

Arriving at his destination (the 2d floor, seriously people would it kill you to take the stairs?) he turns to me and says "Yeah, it's some beautiful weather."

Of life and learning, preferable with dry red wine and rolling hills of lavender.

Lately, I've been consumed by France. I don't know exactly when this obsession began but it runs deep.  Of course, this makes little sense. I've never been to Europe, yet, I'm absolutely convinced that I need to be in France.

Of course, I want to go to Paris but I mostly fantasize about Provence. I suspect my dream is not unlike many - an extended stay in a French farmhouse with lavender on the sill to keep the scorpions at bay.  Plaster walls painted in hues both rich and muted at the same time.  Bread and cheese and red wine which I will actually drink and enjoy.  Boldly printed tapestries and table clothes. Large open windows and an old record player spinning Edith Piaf records or those of some old French folk singer.

It's no secret I've seen too many movies. (Most recently, A Good Year, although my fantasy included lavender on the window sills long before the movie as the idea of scorpions had once put a damper on my dream but with age I'm learning not to be so damned terrified of everything.  Case in point, my overwhelming desire to go to India - Dehli Belly or bust!)

With the exception of a fleeting attraction to Jean Reno in "The Professional", French men have never done it for me.  French woman, on the other hand, simply captivate me.  What they can do with a scarf...and I'm not talking Hermes - just a simple piece of fabric twist around one's neck - voila! - instantly chic!

Don't even get me started on the hair. For years I've tried in vain to twist my hair into those seemingly effortless updos.  Unkempt with falling tendrils in all the right places.

Of course, the scarfs and tendrils are evidence of what I perhaps foolishly equate to this grand idea of a bohemian lifestyle. And why wouldn't this appeal to me?  At their very core, Bohemians are quite simply those who fancy themselves intellectuals (lazy) or artists (unsuccessful).  Bohemians, traditionally, appreciate or cultivate art and culture with a passion with little regard for the constraints of society such as success, commercialization...recognition (and depending on whose doing the defining...hygeine).  In my mind, and this is my fantasy after all, it's art for arts sake but a little bit chicer (and clean...yeah, I'm still talking about the French). 

It's a lifestyle I'd happily commit to if I weren't lacking that all important characteristic...talent.

All in all, this is the very nature of my life.  Fantasy muddled with fear which ultimately ends with me observing from the sidelines.  Never bold enough to take the risk.  Cuffed to the everyday monotony by antiquated notions of good old duty and obligation.

Although lately, something almost miraculous has happened. Clarity. 

I recognize all of this is very foolish and I feel more than a little silly sharing it.  Here's the thing, I've spent an awful lot of my life chasing after things that I thought would make me happy. What I thought I would get from having certain things or being recognized for having these things and not one of them has brought me any closer to this happiness I seek.

As for fame, I'm not bold enough to really seek it. I don't like that much attention and I'm too sensitive to take the criticism.  As a result, much of the time, I'm too scared to write what I really think or really feel (you think I'm cynical now...). And even then, I'm just not clever enough and I don't care enough. Take the current state of things, I could wax on about the election but I hate rhetoric and I can't get behind either candidate.  Beyond that, I don't have a lot of faith in my peers.  I don't see a lot of compassion around me anymore.  People don't even listen to each other.  The narcissism chokes me and the noise deafening.  Each voice growing much louder than the last, the ass braying "NO! LISTEN TO ME! ME! ME!".

Here is the one constant -- What makes me feel the most complete is what I get from learning - reading good books, listening to the cello, seeing Picasso and Matisse. 

So, next Spring I'm off to France. Ted has agreed to make a trip with me and while I know he won't be able to get away for much time, I'm hoping to extend my stay a little longer. 

It's true the France fantasy may be just another thing I think will bring me happiness and I will get there and hate everything about the stinky country - destined to be my own worst enemy never satisfied, perpetually disappointed.  So be it.  No matter what, I'll be living and traveling as I figure this out.  Not dreaming about it from the sidelines and not seeking any approval or recognition from anyone as I do it.

And that's okay, no fantastic, with me. Because there is one part about this fantasy that I can speak to with overwhelming certainty - if I am just fooling myself and I still seek adulation I'm off to the one place on earth I'll be wont to find it.  Non?

You might be a loser when...

Taking a page from Jeff Foxworthy...

You might be loser when you've exhausted all the episodes of Battlestar Gallactica rented through your six disc subscription to Netflix (yeah, three DVD's at a time just isn't enough) so you sit and read blogs while you wait for a few more episodes to download through Amazon Unbox.

All hail the rude awakening - a novella

The words stung. I knew they were coming and they were well deserved but they still stung.  A pail of water on an already drowning woman, I forced a few deep breaths in an effort to calm myself lest I start balling in front of the 22 y.o. young man now seated directly outside my office.

This certainly wasn't where I expected to be but I've been ignoring the inevitable for so long and the inevitable hasn't taken kindly to being ignored. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

From the surface to my core, I'm a seriously flawed individual. For the most part I keep my shit to myself - my blog being my only real outlet for the abundance of insecurity, self-loathing/doubt/reflection that riddles my mind. I don't like sharing it with people. Sure, I recognize that we all share some sort of common experience but well-intended wonderful people come back to me with advice and relation tales that just don't ring of relation - I'm left feeling even more isolated and alone than I felt before I shared the problem or feeling. So, I just don't share.

Add it to my list of serious flaws.

Here's another - over the years, I've learned not to expect anything from people.  You expect things from people and they just disappoint you.  What I've failed to recognize is that this doesn't absolve you from the expectations of others.

This month marks three years in New York. It's the longest I've been in any one place since law school. My life has been transient since I left home for college fifteen years ago.  Fifteen years, seven different cities and an address book full of wonderful friends from one coast to the other. I've been there for the weddings, called off weddings, the divorces, the birth of babies, the death of a husband, cancer, surgeries, house sitting, cat sitting, dog walking - I've been there.  I've racked up more frequent flier miles to spend time with my friends, bachelorette parties, funerals, weddings, showers. I've been there.

Husbands, new last names, babies...the onus always resting squarely on me. To pick up the phone, make the travel reservation, buy the bridesmaid dress, send the gift be it shower, wedding, baby...most at times when Ted and I were struggling. We've always been struggling.

I always found a way to make it all work without a second though.  The love I have for each one of these people overshadowed any material cost.  They were worth the struggle. So, I incurred the debt - I've never been a stranger to debt. I was happy to incur it even. 

There were also times when I just couldn't do it.  I simply couldn't put the Williams and Sonoma Salt and Pepper shakers or the certificate to Baby Gap on the card for friends already living in McMansions, driving luxury cars and carrying handbags I could only covet.

With each gift left unpurchased, with births missed, birthday cards unacknowledged I gave myself fifty lashings.  I wish I only gave myself fifty.  I felt (feel) absolutely overridden with guilt because I carried each one of these indiscretion on my conscience. I failed them. I retreated. I failed them again. For the first time in my life, I found myself absolutely unable to be the friend that I had prided myself in being.

I became absolutely overwhelmed and burdened by the guilt I was feeling. When I did "man up" and reach out to friends, I plied them with the mea culpas I felt I owed them. Never once thinking it was okay to forgive myself for having limits.  I made easily forgivable situations a million times worse by promising to make it up to them.  I over promised and then buried myself and tarnished my image by under delivering.  Promising to make it up to someone with a trip.  Promising a trip when I'd used all my vacation time for my own wedding. Sure, I'd committed the horrible act of missing a birthday but now I was making promises I couldn't keep.  The friend who misses birthdays was bad.  The friend who makes promises she can't keep - not as easily forgiven. 

Here's where I stop and insert a point of clarification.  I am fully aware that I did this to myself.  No one did this to me. I got myself to this place with absolutely no pushing.  I am not blaming anyone else for this. I'm not bitter with anyone. I'm only disappointed in myself. First, for getting myself to this place. This place where I find myself now...so far gone.  Second, I'm deeply saddened by the fact that I let people down by promising more of myself than I had to give. I never should have done that.  Third, I'm disappointed that I've never learned to say "no" to things. I shouldn't have been in some of the weddings I was in but I wanted to be.  I want to be included in everything. Not only is it more than a little sad and pathetic, frankly, I couldn't afford it.  I had no business trying to do all these things.  I didn't have the time, money, vacation time to plan bachelorette parties, showers, etc.

I'm also not trying to suggest that I was a martyr. Lord knows, I've been far from the perfect friend. What I did was try to pretend that I was and that I could be.  I don't know why I ever thought I could be so many things to so many people. I can't. I never could. I'm not cut from that cloth. I have a finite amount of energy. I'm horribly selfish. YET, I desperately wanted to be that person to these friends and I tried to pretended that I could be. Over extending myself, I tried to be the best friend to too many people.

My performance? Spotty at best. I'd get a card out early and a gift in the mail one year but the next I'd realize I missed it two or three weeks after the date and embarrased by the prospect of more mea culpas, I'd hide. AVOIDANCE was my coping mechanism.  That and alcohol.

It needs to be said, that through this, I also failed the most important person in my life, my boyfriend-now-husband, Ted. My very best friend, the person who gets me and asks nothing of me but my time and I've spent so much time failing others and obsessing about how I'm failing all these people I've failed the singular most important person in my life.

Cause here is the other truth.  My friends have failed me too. I just got finished saying that they hold no blame and I stand by that.  That said, had I not spent all this time apologize for being human and for the mistakes I've made - I might have a leg to stand on with this next point but sadly but being the always apologetic one, I've hacked away at the leg and knocked my own ass to the ground. 

As I've said, I don't expect much from people but a few years ago I realized something...the only person over committing herself, spending money she didn't have and hopping on planes for weekends cross country was me.  I was getting calls when people needed to talk to me about their problems - I've made myself a great listener but no one was calling me to tell me how much they miss and love me.   How they can't believe it's been so long since they've seen me and how desperately the want to spend time with me. No one else was getting on the fucking plane.  Fuck, they weren't even EMAILING!

This is particularly tough to face in light of something that happened right around the time I moved to New York.  Around this time, I began to battle the worst depression I have ever faced in my life.  I was in a constant battle with thoughts I never ever wanted to entertain. I might not have been sharing but it didn't take a rocket scientist to see that I was in desperate need of help.  When I got right, I mentioned my disappointment to a few people and I got answers. They weren't the answers I needed nor the ones I deserved.   

In spite of all this, I was still killing myself because I felt like I was letting everyone down without taking a moment to realize, no admit to myself, that they were letting me down too.  It's taken me years to acknowledge and truly recognize this fact, but there is no question I was aware of it's truth. As a result, I was constantly seeking the friendships of others. Needing new friends as the others rightfully lived their own lives - giving their attentions to their new husbands and subsequent children. My life was far from resembling the direction my friends' lives were taking them. I kept scrambling. Trying to add more people.

I don't know exactly when friendship became more about quantity over quality but you don't get more misguided than that. I suppose it was when I was packing my third bridesmaid dress into a cardboard box as I vacated our Boston apartment for Minnesota.  All I know is here I sit feeling more alone than ever before. In a nutshell, whatever I've been doing hasn't been working.  I've let more people down than I care to count but the person I've hurt the most is me.

So, here we are back to the beginning. A friend, one of the few who will get on the phone and tell me that they value me and they love me and they want to spend time with me, was telling me that she'd had enough of my bullshit.

The levies gave way.  In that moment I realized how long I've been treading just barely keeping my head above water. Now I was choking on it.

As she told me she was tired of my bullshit, I realized that if I had any hopes of salvaging this friendship, I needed to let go of the bullshit too. So, here is my attempt to put it all out before me. 

It's clear I've got to get my priorities in line. I've also got to stop apologizing for the fact that I can only give so much. I started this out by saying I'm flawed and I'm flawed.

My number one priority is my husband. I never see my husband.  He works insane hours and I miss him terribly.  I've got to stop pretending I have a lot time on the weekends because I want to spend my time with him. I've officially become that woman but I guess I've got to realize that there's a reason everyone before me became that woman too.  Even with this, I still only get him half a weekend.

Next, I need to put more value and respect into the friendships that I do have. It's true, I can't maintain them all and it's inevitable that friendships will be lost.  This is going to immeasurably difficult for me but its simply the way it has to be.  Somehow, I'm going to have to accept that it's okay.

I bitch about my job but I'm still in an incredibly demanding, professional position.  It's a job I still need.  I'm also habitually overworked and underpaid.  This is particularly true right now. I'm absolutely overwhelmed. I need to go home after work and mentally check out. I need this for both my mental and physical health. I'm fucking BUSY.  I need to be realistic about the plans I make during the week. That said, my door is always open.  I just can't make promises I can get to you.

I've got to establish boundaries.  I can be an ear but I can't take on all the drama. This novella should prove that I've created enough drama of my own.

I've got to stop apologizing. Hopefully, if I get my priorities back on track, I won't feel the need to apologize any more.  Even then, it's okay to make mistakes.  It's not okay for repeated bad behavior but I'm hoping that if I can learn to make only the promises I won't have to apologize. I can be the friend I can be.  The friends my friends deserve.

That's all I'm going to outline because this has taken a self-helpy stance that's getting hard for me to stomach. I may be turning over a new leaf but even I have limits! And I'm nothing if I'm not me. Deeply flawed and constantly mucking things up.  Hopefully, I still have enough people who will love me unconditionally.  Flaws and all.

I've you've made it here. Thank you for reading.

Lest you think I've fallen off the face of the earth

I was sucked into the tumblverse.

Top Ten List

My favorite things about my recent trip to Virgin Gorda.

10. Snorkeling for the very first time and while I saw some beautiful fish among the reefs, I did not see anything too scary!

9.   Little Dix Bay. 

8.  Rum punch and our arrival bottle of rum.  Never been much of a rum drinker but I was delightfully converted.

7.  Morning breakfast buffets. I love breakfast and this spread was just sinful.

6.  The brown pelicans who littered the beach and amused us with their fishing endeavors.

5.  The chameleon/gecko/lizard who inhabited our outdoor shower.

4.  Spending the day on a catamaran - complete with a visit to Bitter End.  Dreaming of being a true sailor. 

3. Ting. Oh, Ting. How I wish I could have you everyday.

2. Ting with a sting!  Combining two things of my top ten list to come up with a third.

And last but not least...

1. Eloping with my very best friend and the love of my life.

 

HELLO? Is anyone out there?

I'm back!  I've grown tired of wading in the kiddie pool. That sounds disparaging but it isn't mean to be. Tumbling is fun and I'm still going to work on my new joint effort with Katie. But I need to get back to the good old fashion angst filled introspection that I am so skilled at.

(Rambling here)

You see, I'm still struggling to find myself and I've gotta try to look everywhere.  I see all these fabulous 20 somethings doing all this fun and amazing stuff in the city and I think "I need to be there!" - so I jump in head first.

And it is fabulous!  But it isn't exactly me.

I think the most important thing I learn through these trials and tribulations is that I need to take pride in the things that I have lived through. I need to grow and continue moving on through life. There isn't anything cool or fun about jogging in place. 

Again, I don't expect this to make much sense.  Life is insane these days.  GOOD but crazy insane.

Anyway, I'm back to psof.com. I prefer the padded walls anyway.

I still feel like I am wading through muck as one is wont to feel with a lingering head cold.  AND this has left things kind of murky which explains much of my general confusion of the past few days.  YET nothing quite explains Kellie Pickler's voice on Idol last night and why despite all the confusion (did her voice always sound like a kewpie doll on crack?) I kind of liked it?