There are these moments that we all have wherein we realize that a previously made decision that seemed quite brilliant at one time, turns out to be a little less than brilliant. In fact the decision seems downright idiotic and instead of feeling on top of the world with all of the newly discovered brilliance – hell, I probably should have been a MENSA member – it’s as if such hastily made decisions weren’t the best judgment ever. Anything can have this from choosing a mate to deciding at 7:30 PM to have enough diet coke to fill the Grand Canyon and then have a super sized, big gulp, iced coffee because caffeine would do a body good at damn near 9 PM.

Alas at 1:50 AM when wide awake and re-reading and responding to emails and writing and watching premium cable after midnight (soft core porn. The end), any other previous decision – made ever in my life – seems like it was a monumentally bad idea.

So now I know what 2 AM looks like while completely sober and let me tell you, it is far kinder and easier to embrace with the help of Grey Goose. I fear that my flight tomorrow will be a nightmare of epic proportions. And to allow my mind to venture off onto how the rest of the week, like the part when I fly two time zones away, will go…well…that explains the pressure slowly building behind my ears and across my brow line.

Shockingly enough I’m not nearly as tempted to slither onto the floor into the fetal position as I normally am when faced with several little things piling up. This could be because my house cleaner quit and the new one won’t start until later this week and so the thought of putting any bare skin onto the pet hair covered floor skeeves me out. Or it could be because a mini-vacation (past and one in the future) and sudden common sense have left me able to cope with things. Either way, I’m finding that there is very little that I can control except for me. Which is a novel concept, I’m sure. In fact that concept, that perhaps only I can control the way I react to other people and situations, is so god damn brilliant that MENSA is probably on their way right about now. Engraved invitation, streamers and all.

I’ve been having these daily moments of complete panic. Wherein I stop in the middle of whatever I might be doing to feel my heart race. I take a few deep breaths and sometimes text/IM/fax Susan to say that I am panicky and she, my comfort friend, tells me that I’ll be fine and perhaps now would be a good time to find that bottle of wine.

Everyday I look at the way I’ve neatly organized my wall calendar. All of the days highlighted in pink are days that I will be away. By my count I will be away for 40 days between now and September 1st. 40. The same number of days of Lent and the same number of days it rained during the flood. I’m getting all Biblical because I’m pretty sure that it will take an act of God to keep me from not losing my ever loving shit between now and September. The problem is that none of these trips are bad; some actually cause my heart to race in excitement, it’s just that they are some very big trips, with very big people and very large crowds; hence the anxiety and general abuse of psychotropic drugs.

This is how I always get though before a lot of big stuff happens. It’s just that never before has so much happened in such a short period of time that I’m finding it difficult to wrap my head around two straight months of being surrounded by several hundred to several thousand people. There is also the here and the there and the normal everyday stuff that I know I will handle because I have to but that doesn’t necessarily prevent me from sitting in the middle of my living room while Simon kneads my stomach, wishing that it were fall already.

Last night I happened to be having one of those episodes. I sat in the dark holding my laptop in one hand and a coffee in the other. I had just returned from the movies and was trying to think of synonyms for ‘absurd’ (asinine, fatuous) when the panic – which I should add, mostly revolves on the sheer number of people I plan to share my personal space with over the upcoming months. Followed closely by the number of times I am going to have to strip for TSA – hit me like a Hummer on the Beltway. So I closed my eyes and began to take deep breaths when The Roommate busted in. Now if you must understand that my roommate is one of those people who believes in positive thought and life and that giving out good energy and doing good will bring good to your life. I believe that if I raise my left eyebrow and look menacing then people will listen to me.

She startled me with her bright Hello. Like we hadn’t seen each other in months and I peered over the monitor, mumbled a bleak Hi and then went back to my hand-wringing. She had been away for a few days for her Wisdom Class (don’t ask) and she proceeded to ask me what I love about my life. That it took me a solid 10 minutes to think of something that I really loved about my life is disheartening and unsettling. For surely my life isn’t that bad. And it isn’t. Really it’s just that when things become beyond overwhelming and you have to take deep breaths and medication in order to face the day, well it is hard to not develop the personality of an angry scorpion.

There is hope for me because I was able to come up with a list of things I love about my life. I am not an overly positive thinker. I prefer to be pragmatic and downright pessimistic as opposed to looking on the bright side. But I figure that if I post a few things here then I at least have a bit of a record for those days when I’m damn near pouring hot coffee on the person closest to me or when I feel like kicking things, I can at least say that there was that one time – not too long ago – when I actually did enjoy something in my life.

1) My job. I may not like the people 100% of the time but I do love the work I get to do. Like really love it. I say ‘get to do’ because it is this amazing opportunity that I have been given and so I feel honored that it has been bestowed upon me. This is what makes it hard not to throw my hands in the air when things get completely out of control and I want to hide under my desk and scream. Those days I can just take a sick day or a two hour lunch or close my office door and listen to Randy Newman for hours. I also get to go to DC whenever I damn well please and that I have a boss who doesn’t feel compelled to keep me on a leash and question my every decision.

2) I wouldn’t exactly call what I do ‘writing’ but more like ‘creative whining’ and giving my unsolicited advice on a myriad of topics. Either way, I love that I actually get money in return for incessant bitching. I love even more that people care to read it and dare I say like me because of it. It makes me get all Sally Field-like sometimes.

3) I am one of those people who can honestly admit to adoring my friends. I love them. And they are all completely different people who support me in totally different ways. These amazing people in my life who know that I am slightly crazy and over the top and petulant and neurotic and I really like my wine and yet for some equally crazy reason they like me anyway.

4) My family. Even though my mother pissed me the hell off the other day and I didn’t talk to her for like five days and had to be FORCED into going to Martha’s Vineyard for her birthday, I still love her and them. The very special people that they are. Though it’s probably genetic and I’m equally as vicious and without a filter when I’m upset. Ahem.

The thing about having one dramatic/traumatic day is that it ends up sucking the life out of the rest of the week such that by the end of it all exertion would be defined as standing up, walking to the refrigerator, finding a beer and prying off the top. And even that requires more concentration than you have.

I’m sitting here singing along to Hairspray and balancing a Heinekin Light on my stomach while The Roommate makes a landmark book; a photo album of sorts of significant moments in her life over the years. As she has been working on this project we have learned that not only did we go to the same elementary school – though she is seven years my senior – we also had the same kindergarten teacher. She’s having a hard time remembering and contemplating resorting to the fluorescent heaven that is MySpace. I am realizing that every significant event since my college graduation has been documented in this space. Both the good and the bad.

It’s June and this year has already been one giant learning experience after another. Some days have been arduous at best where I have seriously thought about jumping in the Hudson and starting over wherever I happen to surface. Then there have been the really great moments where I have been gloriously happy and OK with my decisions because where I have surfaced may not be some perfect tropical island but good enough for me.

So I don’t jump and instead just wait it all out and try my damndest to push the bad days out of the way – to the recesses of my mind – so that they don’t spoil the rest.

I bet if you were to perform a google image search using the phrase “perpetually disgruntle” there would be a 400 pixel width photo of me, oily forehead and all, attempting to shove my foot up someone’s ass with a bill from Verizon in the one hand and my mouth forming some words. Obviously you wouldn’t be able to tell what those words are via photo but I can assure you that I would probably be telling Verizon – most emphatically. As you would be able to tell by the way my face is contorted – to ‘SUCK IT’.

Then you would probably feel the need to back away from the computer, ever so slowly, because waking the beast, though I would only be a google image, would probably scar you for life. And I might tear you limb from limb and it wouldn’t be pretty.

I am going to attempt to be zen and calm like and not want to hurl my body across the room at someone but here is a point of order: If someone owes me like $10 I could give a damn. Really. If three people or entities owe me somewhere in the ballpark of $2500 then I start to get a little foamy at the mouth because where on my chest do I have the words “Citibank”? I just don’t see them.

This calls for deep breaths. VERY deep breaths before I completely lose my ever loving shit. The plan is to attend bootcamp right now and when my trainer asks me to take this 12 pound ball and toss it to my teammate, well don’t be surprised if someone ends up a little more concave than convex in their torso.

Yesterday afternoon I shut my office door, put my head on the desk and repeated to myself “Positive energy. Positive energy. POSITIVE. ENERGY. POSTITIVE GOD DAMN ENERGY MOTHERFUCKER.” You see, I have been on this whole positive thinking kick after The Roommate started brainwashing me with The Secret. She kept mentioning being positive and putting energy towards good and I kept thinking, “Awww, you can talk out of your ass? Neat party trick. Do it again!”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes and went back to riding her trainer bike in the living room for three hours, “You’ll see. Just try it.”

She had been putting ‘positive thoughts’ towards every aspect of her life including finding parking spots. And since I am a parking spot freak who will get home on Sunday at 1 PM and not want to leave until the next morning because I am parked right outside of the building; I figured I would try it as well. And wouldn’t you know that the first time I thought to myself “There will be a spot right here” lo there was a spot. Directly in front of the door to my building. A fluke obviously because thinking positively about something doesn’t necessarily bring joy and happiness. The next day I tried it again, when I had seven loads of laundry in my car and I needed a spot right in front of the building. I drove up my street and kept thinking “There will be a spot up here…”. Imagine my surprise when once again I could have reached out and touched my apartment from my car.

I flew upstairs and busted in on her and exclaimed that OMFG she was right and I thought positively about getting a parking spot (My joys, they come from even the mundane things) and OMFG I am parked right outside the damn building which means I can get up 15 minutes later and HOT DAMN I AM GOING TO BE POSITIVE IF IT KILLS ME.

So I have spent several days half-dead because being positive really might kill me and it is so difficult to be positive when everyone around you is negative or whiny or petulant and to all of you who have been reading for the last 2 ½ years: I AM SO FUCKING SORRY. Here, take this lovely plant – it’s an orchid bitches, don’t sulk – as my thanks for dealing with me for years. I’d give you something better but I think I owe my parents a kidney each and maybe my second born for dealing with me for 24 ½ years (omfg, please hold while I hyperventilate. I am on a trajectory to the wrong side of my 20’s).

I’ve been working on channeling all of my pent up white hot rage and aggression and general hatred towards most of mankind, into focusing on other things whether it be work or writing something or how awful jail would be if I really did choke the shit out of someone. I keep likening it to turning water into wine: Awesome. But next to impossible unless your name is Jesus. I’m trying to be kind not saintly. Which brings us to yesterday when I spent 12 hours riled up about one thing or another and taking deep cleansing breaths. For I really do get worked up over the most innocuous things and put offs. Both intentional or not but I feel compelled to work on not being so intense about things and letting the small shit go and when I do feel like maybe someone needs to get shot in their big toe for being a dumbshit, then I should re-channel those thoughts towards getting my taxes done or how next weekend I’m going to whisper sweet nothings into Chris Jordan’s ear.

I need to be a little more positive and instead of sharing every negative thought in my head (I hate the opposite sex! I am going to beat the hell out of my brother! I hate bracketology!) Then maybe I might feel better about people and life in general and more importantly abating those thoughts might keep me out of jail. I also don’t want to read back over this site 15 years from now and think, My God, I was a miserable little shit in my 20’s. Which explains why I am now sitting here alone with all of my preshus and adorably feral cats.

During lunch, someone made passing reference to the current Presidential election. I looked up startled and realized that that moment was the first time in five days that I remembered that there was an election going on. I could feel my face contort to a look of visible surprise when Barack Obama was mentioned as if I had never heard of him ever in my life. And obviously I had forgotten all about my pseudo-infatuation and that time he remembered my name. Every conversation in regards to politics that I have had in the last five days has been solely about the activities in other people’s marriages. It seems that everyone has a ‘roving eye’. I say that I don’t care but I listen intently and sucked into it anyway.

Later in the afternoon I would relay to Susan the facts behind my day. Done in great detail and dripping with inflection to show that I meant business. That rush that comes when so much has happened in such a short amount of time and it just layers and layers until inevitable explosion. It was one hour of drama that reminded me of an episode of “24” but with less Chinese torture devices and more of my threat to ‘choke that motherfucker’ and feeling so goddamn pissed off that I literally walked around in circles muttering to myself and kicking little cherub statues.

In the evening I couldn’t wait to tell Metalia about something that had absolutely nothing to do with me. Of this I am more than well aware. But I still couldn’t help but want to say, “You will NEVER believe what was just said”. I realize that the current drama threat level of a situation is at orange and I give it a gentle nudge towards red. For no other reason than procrastination and boredom and it is far better than watching grass grow.

I am now up to my eyeballs in drama. Ensconced by so much of it  that I can’t tell my head from my ass hole. Every other minute it is something new or someone else has said something. My gut reaction to be an enabler and claim that I don’t want to hear the latest and greatest most shocking thing only to lean in closer as if saying “But test me! See if you can shock me just a little bit more today than you did yesterday! Go on, TRY.” There is that natural inclination to want to know even if there is no reason to know. To dig and find out the details. To discern the fact from the fiction and then circulate the ‘truth’ or what is perceived as truth to the masses. For clearly, everyone and their brother should be in the know. Meanwhile, in the back of my mind, I realize that I shouldn’t care and I should stop enabling people and employ the ignore method but my inclination is to want to hear the story. So instead I employ the rock/hard place metaphor because while I shouldn’t care, I do. And while drama makes my head spin and there are way bigger things going on, I am still intrigued by the most mundane bullshit.

In the morning I wake up and write it all down for myself only to realize that more than my ass, this – not giving a shit – is something that I should be working on.

What I am about to say might come as a shock but here goes: When I don’t get my way ::deep breaths:: I get whiny. Not mildly whiny but there have been moments of extreme petulance that will cause a two year old to stop, mid-sippy cup throw just to take note as to how one throws a proper tantrum. On the one hand I am most certainly not proud of moments of hysterics because I didn’t get what I want on the other hand I enjoy getting what I want. Sad but true.

Thankfully my last extreme fit of rage was several years ago and hardly anything memorable. The only reason I think of it now is because I have spent the last several months in some trance like state due to a one-track mind. It has been like running on a treadmill at 10 mph knowing that I am not going anywhere nor will I ever but I keep pushing myself at full steam ahead without any tangible reason. I know at the end that I won’t get anywhere but I keep trying – kept trying – because that is my type A nature; not just to want desperately but to throw my efforts into getting what I want. When it doesn’t happen I inevitably get upset because you don’t put your all into something without feeling like a failure when it doesn’t come to fruition. This marks the first time that I didn’t get something that I wanted in the most painful way, only to feel perfectly OK in the end.

There is a difference between keeping the “I’m ok” mantra on constant repeat so that I am forced to think it true and actually believing it and humming along because I really am just fine. This very odd sense of calm that comes at the end of a marathon: Somewhere between relief and slight pain and stiffness; but nothing that can’t be cured with an advil (or a few chocolate chip cookies). It comes with this huge sense of accomplishment for plugging through and knowing that I could never be faulted for not doing my damndest and doing a fucking fantastic job of keeping my shit together through it all.

It isn’t some easy-peasy catch all of saying that the Universe works in mysterious ways and things happen for a reason. I am in no mood for the bullshit that usually spews forth from my pie hole. But I do have some confidence when saying that I am happy and for once genuinely so.

“We have to learn to be our own best friends because we fall too easily into the trap of being our own worst enemies.”  ~Roderick Thorp

So, I’m sitting here having some wine and in my jammies. There’s some self loathing and the HBO signature channel which is like Lifetime lite; the kind that will only leave you kind of teary eyed but without full on sobbing. And suddenly I have this great epiphany, but it’s not an epiphany and more like “HEY DUMBASS! OVER HEEEERE!” I literally sit upright and realize that hey, dumbass, you are not in control. Then relax back on the couch and say ‘huh…’ to myself. 

I talk to myself a lot when alone. I probably should get out more but that’s an entirely different conversation. 

I apologize for this rambling and extraordinarily vapid post of introspection but I swear to God, for the past month I’ve been waking up and saying “Whatever happens, happens. It will be fine.” I write it out, I say it out loud, I tell friends all in an attempt to convince myself that things happen for a reason and things aren’t as bad as they seem because this is the first time that I’ve been completely out of control. There is no back up plan when things inevitably plan and I have ALWAYS had a back up plan. Obviously nothing is 100% definite but even when things have been at like 99.9% definite there is always a back up plan. I don’t want to end up completely unprepared. 

Anyway, I’m on my couch realizing this and I smack my hand down and I don’t know…I figure why the hell not enjoy myself and be spontaneous? Fuck, the most spontaneous thing I’ve ever done is go to Oklahoma City and even that required some sort of planning and stress and hand wringing through Midway airport. But suddenly I don’t know…I don’t feel stressed…I’m just thinking ‘Okie dokie, here goes nothing. Stock up on the Pinot.’ I’m just gonna fly by the seat of my pants and I will inevitably fall on my ass. But for the first time ever – good lord, I am pathetic – it’s going to be OK. And holy hell, am I happy. 

When Kris writes about relationships I always feel like I’m right there with her. Not only is she a gifted writer but also an excellent friend to have, always full to the brim of good advice and wise words that resonate and are more than a perfunctory ‘Men suck’. I say it, too of course; that the opposite sex is around just to ensure I get my money’s worth in therapy. Most everyone does it Everyone needs that friend that can look at the bigger picture which is something that I, at times, am seriously lacking, especially when it comes to analyzing relationships. And not just my own I might add but others. Which of course begs the question as to why on Earth one would come to me looking for sage advise on any sort of relationship with any person? Me? The person who is perfectly content sleeping and living and (I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but what the hell) possibly breeding alone. I am not one to go to in any sort of uber relationship crisis. I am just not equipped to deal with such things and in my mind all I’m thinking is “Wouldn’t you be happier…I don’t know…ALONE?” while I’m nodding and pretending to really feel for my friends.

I remember a few years ago, a close friend was having relationship woes and I was out of the country. I could only hear of stories and things based on hearsay. It’s hard to get wrapped up in everything that is going on across an ocean while riding camels in a desert near Marrakech. It was hard because I ended up being the bad friend; the one who started judging and eye rolling and not really listening. I still feel shitty about the entire situation some three years later because I was so completely wrong with my automatic assumptions. But that’s how it goes; people tell stories in short bursts, stories that rarely show a complete picture. Stories that are usually shared with girlfriends out of anger or frustration and alway over a good bottle of wine. Either way it’s during those times when you want someone to commiserate and understand and say “YES! He’s an asshole! He made you cry” even if there is so much more that isn’t being said.

Relationships – any relationship – are labyrinthian in their complexities. In which two people have a connection with each other that would be impossible for another to understand. I’m not trying to be my naive Pollyanna-like self nor am I claiming to be an expert; I just find it ludicrous to think that one knows all about how two people interact with each other based upon a simple blog post or a 25 minute conversation during which one of the parties is completely shit faced. Each is different and each must be navigated in their own complicated ways. Perhaps vexing to a third party; you know, the friend that always chimes in with “Dump his ass” (that would be me, by the way) but in the grand scheme of things all might very well be good. I think the kids call it ‘venting’.

I think about these things some times. Knowing full well that no relationship will be perfect. I wonder how much effort I would put in (knowing me, a metric fucking ton) and whether or not I would compromise on the things that were always ‘NEVERS’. Would I have outbursts and bitch to my friends about my annoyances while announcing that he is one fickle motherfucker? (Um, have you met me? Have you even remotely perused any of this site? Then YES). But that would never be the complete story because I’d only want and could only portray my side; which would be the right side at the moment (DUH). Despite the imperfections – superficial and real – after the venting is over and a good buzz is procured, I want to be able to look him in the eye and say “I am a better person with you in my life and no matter what I love you”.

(Oh my god, I might have just gagged. The sentimentality is killing me. Next week we’ll be exploring the following topic: Grey Goose or Ketel One: Which would you rather bathe in? Discuss.)

Yesterday morning I was asked how I was doing. Not exactly known for my sunny disposition I shrugged and replied, “Fine. It’s been a long week.”

“Don’t ever say fine!” he shot back.

“What? Why?”

“Don’t you know that fine stands for Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotionally unstable?!”

“…”

“Never, ever say fine. Say excellent. Say blessed. But never fine.”

Well then, I seem to be ‘fine’ in all senses of the word for it’s been a really, really long week. I’ve said this a million times before but it’s always the little things that pile up and turn into one big thing that causes me to feel like I’m seconds away from spontaneously combusting. One step closer to an open flame and I’m a goner. It started with a cold and then a crappy reaction to medication then checking in and out of three different hotels in one week. And let it be known that I’ve seriously gotten over the whole allure of sleeping hotels and ordering all the room service my little high fructose corn syrup heart desired.

ANYWAY all of these things has turned me into a complete basket case of impending doom. With the climax of this story being a really exciting trip to the Verizon store after which I cried. No, CRIED into a chocolate milkshake. I honestly don’t cry that often but I apparently needed to just let it all out. You know, that type of cry that starts off with a tightened chest, then a deep breath, with the next exhale becoming a little shaky, then the involuntary chest heaves before you’re suddenly BLINDED by tears (while driving no less) (while getting onto an on ramp where people are known for their lack of turn signal usage) (did I mention that I was holding a fucking milkshake and God forbid I put that shit down). Then you let go of everything that was being held back. The tears only come after I’ve let something build and build and build and for the most part I tend to keep them at a distance because tear stained is not a good look for me. I, my friends, am an ugly crier. It’s just been a week that’s all. A week of really fantastic highs and the inevitable lows all of which were planned and deserved but either way, I am now truly spent. But at least I’m able to own up to everything and honestly say that I am just ‘fine’ and perhaps next week I will be back to my normal, vodka drinking, Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis-esque, excellent self.