NYC: Week 1

This week was quite the experience.  We delved into our new, dog-less Manhattan life with a vengeance. Lots of happy hours, dinners, 35 block after-dinner walks, and...happy hours. Yesterday was also Jeff's birthday so needless to say, we did a lot of celebrating.

Here are some recent pictures that in no way depict our week accurately. Apparently, we ONCE AGAIN forgot to take pictures. For shame.

The morning before we left was a cold, sad and quite exhausting time.

This dorm sized apartment is all ours for the month!

The look on my face is: anxiety/excitement/what the heck is going on.

Drinks at Common Ground. Votive candles can be used in place of napkins while going to the bathroom.

Sign outside of the Donnybrook, LES.

Two different colored eyes! This kitty was a great little window find.

Dinner at Vezzo in Murray Hill!

Birthday boy with our flower giving friend, Ed.

This week was actually a huge lesson for me.  While I work very well with change, I also crave familiarity.  And sleep.  Without sleep and some of my favorite familiar things (i.e. Remy, my bed, etc), change is hard.  The week was chock-full of awesomely fun nights with friends, but it was also filled with a lot of unwanted anxious days.  I'm not young enough to just jump into a week full of debauchery anymore.  I don't have the old-me's brain that just thinks I deserve to go crazy 24/7.  I'm almost 30. I have my own company, I have a dog. I have things I'm responsible for and to throw that all out the window is jarring for a girl with anxiety.  

So yes...this first week was a little harrowing at times, but I feel good now.  I'm back at my house for the night (with Jeff) and couldn't be more thrilled to do housework, write for my upcoming job, and catch up on awful reality television.  

I learned (or re-learned) more about myself and I believe it will prove to be incredibly useful going forward.  I'm planning two more nights like this one throughout the month to keep my roots intact and my brain exposed to some of my favorite creature comforts (my bed! computer! home made dinners!)...and I feel good about the rest of our time in NYC now.  I'm excited to go back tomorrow before starting a new freelance gig on Tuesday for Lifetime. I'm happy for this time filled with FRIENDS, fun, and new experiences and I plan to live it completely!

Cheers!
L

Stress Dreams.

Last night was a doozy.

Jeff is away, work is still crazy, things need to get done, and well, you could totally tell all of that if you were to witness what I would like to call: THE CRAZIEST STRESS DREAM OF ALL TIME. With that being said, stress dreams are NOT abnormal for me.  Normally, they occur semi-often in the very same way. Every single time. There is no creativity in how my mind freaks out.

It goes something like this:

My jaw is open. Wide open. I have lock jaw from laughing too hard or yawning and I am freaking out.  Silently.  Either the dream ends with me crunching my jaw closed, shattering my teeth (ew, I KNOW) or it just ends with me trying to have someone help me close my mouth.

Until last night.

Last night, I was in a car chasing a train.  I had minutes to catch it or I would miss an important appointment (or something).  Flying into a sandy parking lot, I run out of the car but it's too late.  The train pulls away and people watch me, distraught and out of breath. 

Then, a bell rings.  I turn around and people are everywhere, flooding the parking lot.  Two figures - a guy and girl - are leaning against my car. The guy is wearing a varsity jacket (because I am in high school now?!) and I wave at them, ready to see if they can help me out. 

As I get closer, I realize that they are NOT happy.  They start screaming to one another and things get heated.  REALLY heated.  As the guy throws me a threatening glare, I realize that he hates me and is most likely going to hurt me.  Avoiding his flailing/angry arms, I jump into my car and take off while he kicks at my doors, yelling and throwing things at me.  My heart is pounding.

Suddenly, I look forward as I drive and I see...a coffee cup on the hood of the car.  I pull over. I'm distraught.  I'm chewing gum.  And I think about how I shouldn't be chewing this gum so hard, but I don't care.  I chew it harder and harder and then stop suddenly.  But, it's too late.  One tooth....and then another.  Fall right out of my mouth.

Playa please.

If missing a train, being in high school, avoiding a psycho killer, forgetting a cup of coffee (!!!), and losing two teeth isn't the mother of all stress dreams, I don't know what is.

wah,

Quirks.

Everyone has a quirk or two.  Even if you aren't aware of what they may be, they're there.  Some more out there (eating cocktail skewers, laundry detergent, or dating an inanimate object?) than others.   

However, as a public transportation user, I don't have the luxury of seeing people at their best or most normal.  Nope.  On trains/subways/buses/planes I am witness to these quirks EVERYDAY.  What is it about a subway that makes us all a little loco?  Are we a tad too trapped with our thoughts?  Are we simply too close to our fellow riders?  Or are we too close to ourselves for comfort?

I, of course have my own.  Upon entering a train, I will most likely scout out the bathroom...you know...just in case.  I almost NEVER use it, but what if I needed to?  What if it wasn't working and then the train stalled, trapping me there for hours? Or what if the car with the bathroom was crowded with people?  These are all things that make my mind race.

Other than that, I like to have a window seat, but I probably won't act noticeably if I cannot.  Oh, and I don't like to touch people.  AND if the person next to me is picking/biting/doing anything that I deem as bathroom behavior, I usually excuse myself as soon as possible.

Those are mine.  Here are some others:

On average, a dozen girls per subway car will cover their hands in their sweaters before hanging on to the subway pole for support. I'm not sure if it's better to touch the thing to maintain a better grip and wash your hands asap, or do this.  I sway between the two.

Every single day, dozens of people stand to exit the train 5-10 minutes before we even enter the station.  I understand the urgency, but unless you are in the center of the train car, I think there is very little point in doing this. You may save yourself 23 seconds. However, the energy expelled in this practice is so addictive and I've found myself doing it too. Follower.

On a subway one time, I witnessed one woman pressing her eyes shut while repeatedly telling herself that she was "almost there" for 12 grueling minutes until we arrived at her stop.   Also hating the idea of entrapment, I felt her pain...but moreso for her quirk than actually being trapped in a vehicle that was taking her where she wanted to go.


Last week, I watched as a young lady dressed in her fancy work garb paced the entire length of the train a good 7 times before getting to her stop (or maybe it wasn't her stop).  Back and forth she went.  Knocking into people, constantly excusing herself. It was painful to watch because I knew she was having some sort of internal struggle, but what could anyone say..."I'm sorry for your brain"?

Yesterday, I sat beside an enthralled Kindle reader and nail biter who spit his nails OUT in the direction of the train aisle.  I'm sure he didn't even realize he was doing it, but you can be sure: This  made me want to vomit.

And today a man jumped into my subway car and proceeded to lay out a small area of newspaper to rest his weary suited bum on. No he wasn't a puppy and it wasn't his litter box. He merely thought the newspaper would be less dirty than the seat.  Of course, I then spent the rest of my ride wondering if I agreed with this action and upon arriving at my destination decided that I do not.  Ink on my pants seems like a messy situation to fix...but then again this was his quirk and not mine.


Whenever I start to feel like a freak or anxious about something or another, I think it's important to look around. Really look around. Everyone's got their thing.  I'm not alone.  We're all just so consumed with our own stuff that it's hard to see...humans are quirky. All of them.

xoxo
L

Being Sick.

Yesterday was great.  Jeff and I went golfing with friends (I've never been) and food shopping for BBQ essentials before barbequing back at our house.  It was the relaxing Sunday that I needed before starting at a new job on Monday morning.  Technically, since I'm freelance, I'm always starting new jobs...but this one was different.  More advertise-y than television-y.  More scary. (Scarier?)

-Anyway-

Whilst sitting out on our deck, I basked in the sun and enjoyed our company before speaking these fated words:

"I never get sick."

It was true. I really don't ever get sick.  Even when I worked in an office everyday, I didn't catch the bugs floating around or even acquire the occasional runny nose.  It has probably been 4 years since the last time I was actually under the weather.  How lucky.

An hour after our friends left, Jeff started to complain that he felt too full.  We had eaten A LOT so this wasn't at all weird.  Then, around 10pm he called it a night.  We turned off Mad Men, peeled ourselves off the couch, and walked toward the kitchen to shut down shop.  Well, before I could even look behind me, Jeff veered off into the bathroom and started to vomit.  Loudly (Ew, boy vomit!).

He must've had too much of...something. Obviously.

Two hours after falling asleep, I was woken up with a pain in my stomach.  Then in my throat.  I was nauseous, my stomach felt full and acid-y, my body ached and I couldn't get to the bathroom quick enough to revisit our bbq extravaganza. I was sick...with a stomach bug.

This is the first time in my life that I've had to call out of a job BEFORE my first day.  Talk about a nightmare for someone with anxiety.  What if they think I'm faking it?!  Will I ever be okay again?  I kept having flashbacks to calling out of school "sick" and nobody believing me (because I was lying).  Guilt, anxiety and a stomach bug.  That's me. 

Being sick sucks.  But I think the real moral of the story is: never say never.

Damn.

On the plus side, this picture of Remy from last summer makes me happy.  So at least there's that.

Relax to Survive.

This morning, I boarded the train, took my seat by the window and pulled out my notebook, ready to get some script-writing done before work.  A man walked by me wearing a hilarious jean jacket circa 1984 that attracted my eyeballs.  I stared as he passed and saw that all down the backside of his jean dream was embroidery that read, "Relax to Survive."   I thought about it. 

It struck a chord.

Reason being: I have anxiety. I'm not someone who you would think has such a thing (because I'm pretty even-keeled and laid back most days), but I do.  It hit me like a brick to the face in 2005 as I walked down the grassy aisle of my college graduation field, changing me in an instant.  I was about to take my place among my fellow hungover about-to-be-graduates when I suddenly became dizzy.  Within minutes of finding my seat, the president of my college took to the podium and something inside me burst.  I had to get out of there.  So, I ran. Off the field, through the crowds, hyperventilating, searching high and low for a bathroom, and basically dying. Or so I thought.  

I used the bathroom, ran back out onto the field and sat. Things turned black.  I became dizzy again. Nauseous again.  Heart pounding again.  I was about to die again.  Once more, I ran off of the field like a mad-woman cloaked in a black cape to search for the bathroom again.  Afterwards, I ran to the ambulance that had been parked on the sidelines in case anybody happened to be dying. Like me.  The paramedics checked me out and told me that I had heat exhaustion.  I disagreed, telling them, "No, It's not the heat, it's everything. Everything is wrong."  


As my graduation continued without me, I remained on the sidelines, head between my knees, with someone else's grandmother applying a wet cloth to the back of my neck.  Then, my number was up. It was my turn to cross the stage into graduation land.  Other-persons-grandma told me that I didn't have to go, but I did.  Shaking like a leaf, I stood up, I crossed the stage, took my diploma and shook the president's hand.  Every step felt like an eternity and every thread of my being begged me to stop because I was obviously having a heart attack. 

My hand escaped the president's and as I turned to the graduation day photographer waiting for me, it was gone.  The shakes, the nausea, the heart pounding, the dizziness.  All of it was gone.  I was no longer dying. Just like that.

That was my first full blown panic attack even if I didn't know it at the time.  Since then, I've had some years where my anxiety acted as a hidden ninja, pouncing only every so often...and other years were plagued with constant anxiety mind games brought on by myself.  Nowadays, it's mostly gone.  I have ways of dealing and overcoming, but that doesn't mean I don't think about it. Often.

Which is why today, when I read that man's coat, I couldn't help but think how correct the words are.  We have to relax or we're not going to make it.  To survive...and really, really live, we need to relax.  A little more each day.

Thanks for the insight, jean jacket man.

xoxo

L