“Life loves to be taken by the lapel and told: ‘I am with you kid. Let’s go.’” ~Maya Angelou
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.
Brilliance becomes me
“Things turn out best for the people who make the best out of the way things turn out. ” ~Art Linkletter
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.