Friday, July 27, 2001

Blue Period



Yeah, yeah, yeah. I hear you out there. "Where the hell have you been? Why aren't you updating? What's going on?"

Sorry. I've been involved in a little side project: trying to stay sane.

It's no secret that I've not been a happy camper lately. I've always been a bit on the depressed side, but lately it's been worse than usual. I've mentioned it here before. People that know me outside of this site have commented on it. "What's wrong? It can't be that bad. Smile!"

If only it were that easy.

There are so many things in my life that make me happy. I have the best friends that anyone could ask for. I have a loving family. I just got back from a fabulous vacation. And yet...something feels terribly wrong, horribly off kilter.

Maybe it's just that I don't deal with stress very well. And I've had a heaping portion of it on my plate these days. My job frustrates me on a daily basis. Many of my friends have pulled up roots for greener pastures. I still occasionally have problems dealing with the loss of my cat. Monetary woes. Ailing family members. Dealing with friendships that went bad. The realization that I'm not a kid anymore, that it's time for me to figure out what I want to be when I grow up, that I need to start planning for my future (you know, further than the upcoming weekend). The whole being single thing. The unending battle with the bathroom scale. The list goes on and on.

And underneath it all, the lingering notion that somehow most of it is all my fault. Somewhere I made a wrong turn, zigged when I should have zagged. If I'd just done one tiny thing differently, I'd be working at my dream job, driving a nice new car, with the freedom to visit my long-distance friends whenever I wanted. I'd have money in the bank, I'd be thin and beautiful with hair that actually does what I want it to do. I'd have infinite inspiration and motivation to write, boundless energy to complete everything on my Life To Do list, an incredible man who loves me and understands me. Elvis would still be stalking air molecules in my apartment. I'd have finished my master's degree, I'd have thousands of devoted readers, and would be sitting at home working on my Nobel Prize acceptance speech.

So where did I go wrong? Did I give up on a job too soon? Did I pick the wrong major in college? Is this all because I didn't write that paper in my high school British Lit class? Did I make the wrong friends in the third grade? What did I do?

And of course sitting around mulling all of this over in my head just makes things worse, because I do start blaming myself for everything. I try to put my finger on what the problem is, and it appears that, to steal an album title from Moby, everything is wrong. I've bought myself a first-class ticket on an around-the-world guilt trip, and there don't seem to be any ticket agents who will let me get a refund.

So I sit and blame myself, which kills any motivation to do anything to fix my problems. And then I berate myself for my inactivity, my apathy, and add that to the pile of Reasons Why I Suck. And the cycle continues in a giant Mobius Strip of Self-Loathing.

And I feel hesitant to talk about this with the people that care about me because they shouldn't have to deal with my problems. They all have their hands full dealing with their own problems, and the last thing they need is whiny little me, unable to cope with normal day-to-day life. Some of them have dealt with much bigger crises in their lives and have been able to move on; my problems look downright insignificant compared to what they've overcome.

As I explained it to Roger Mexico, sometimes I feel like I'm in a car with faulty brakes going down a treacherous hill. Sometimes I have control; sometimes I'm just watching helpless and waiting for the inevitable crash.

Part of my head knows that I'm being ridiculous, that things aren't as bad as I'm making them out to be. Unfortunately it's hard to hear the Voice of Reason clearly when you're plummeting down the side of a mountain in a car you can't stop.

And online tests like this one are just a bad bad idea when I'm in this state. (According to my results, there's a very high probability that I may be schizotypal. Or I have borderline personality disorder. Or avoidant personality disorder. Or there's a good chance it's just that I'm paranoid, dependant, and obsessive-compulsive. Lovely.)

So I'm trying to dig myself out of the hole I'm stuck in. I've talked to friends about what I'm going through. I've done massive research online. I've started writing about things that upset me and frustrate me and frighten me. I've analyzed my reactions to situations and relationships in my past. I've started taking herbal supplements to boost my serotonin levels. I'm trying to do whatever I can by myself before I give up and seek shelter in professional help and prescription antidepressants.

Not that those options I'd attempting to avoid are bad. It's just that the idea of wading through referrals to satisfy my health insurance provider, trying to find a therapist I trust, and dealing with freaky side effects from drugs are scary prospects. Not to mention costly and time consuming.

I've made some progress. The 5-HTP does seem to help make things a little more manageable; I"m not as much of a big sobbing mess as I was before. I'm starting to sort a few things out. I'm starting to believe that the light at the end of the tunnel is not an oncoming train. I feel like I've made a few awkward baby steps towards being normal (whatever that is), and no longer feel like I just want to curl up in a ball and die.

Well, most of the time. I'm far from hunky dory at this point, and there are still some moments when I lose all sense of the world around me, when it's just me inside my head telling myself that it's all a lost cause.

Most of the people around me have been very supportive. Others have just looked the other way, in hopes that if they ignore the situation, it will just go away. Some people have no idea where my head is at, and think it's just something I can snap my fingers and change. I wish.

The woods are a very scary place at night. I know the footpath out is around here somewhere.

I really must stop writing about this now. Focusing on the problem for too long just making it worse. Moderation is the key at this point. Let's move on, shall we?

I saw something on the internet earlier this evening that really pissed me off. It seems that Roger Mexico's former bandmate has moved on to another musical venture, which is all well and good except for the fact that her new band is performing a song that Roger Mexico wrote, and he's not getting the credit. The music is now attributed to the New Guy.

I could be overreacting here. There's a ridiculously small chance that maybe he did write new music to go with her lyrics, but for some reason I seriously doubt it. I couldn't confirm or dismiss my suspicions because I was unable to download the mp3, so I'm just assuming at this point. The best I could do was send an email to Roger Mexico alerting him to the situation. Hopefully he'll have better luck than I did with downloading the track in question.

This bothers me a lot. I'm not so naïve that I believe that no one in the world has ever stolen material from another source and passed it off as their own. But it's a completely different story when it's someone you know, when you know how much work they put into it. Theft is always a much bigger deal when it happens in your own backyard.

What amazes me is the stupidity on the part of the alleged perpetrator. Just because Roger Mexico has washed his hands of his former band and moved out of the city doesn't mean that he's completely ignorant of what's going on. He does still have friends here, you know. Friends involved in the local music scene that might possibly recognize a song he wrote. And making the song available on the new band's website is kinda stupid. Um, hi? Do the words World Wide Web mean anything to them?

But until I'm 100% sure that I'm right, I'm holding back from registering for the new band's forum to make any formal accusations. (I refuse to link to their site, since I don't want to send any extra traffic their way.) But if my assumptions prove correct, I'm half tempted to register merely so I can jump in, point my virtual finger at them and post "Thief! Thief!" in giant flashing red letters, and get the heck out of Dodge. I'm not big on the flamage thing, but I calls 'em as I sees 'em.

Great. Now I'm depressed and angry.

But at least I updated, right? That's progress.

Tuesday, July 17, 2001

Crash and Burn



(Written in the Philadelphia airport)

So here I am, waiting at my gate. Time - 7:40 am. Time my flight departs - 2:25 pm. 6 hours, 45 minutes. Argh.

Not that I had much choice in the matter. Given the office politics going on in Roger Mexico's department, he had to be at work by 9:00, and I had no other way to get to the airport.

I think I maybe slept for 20 minutes last night, which is worse than not sleeping at all. It's just enough downtime to piss off my tired body.

The cats, in their nightly attempt to kill each other, knocked over a rack of CDs at 5:00 am this morning. To me, it sounded like a gun shot, and I started checking my body for holes. It was literally that loud.

So the first thing I did upon "waking" was make coffee and take my multivitamin, and now there's a war going on inside me. Body exhausted. Brain wired from the caffeine. Hands shaking from wired brain and lack of sleep. Stomach nauseous from taking multivitamin on an empty stomach and moving vehicle.

On the way to the airport, NPR did a story on improving the short term memory of air traffic controllers to avoid runway mishaps. The last thing I needed to hear while my body was fighting to stay awake was a rundown of airline disasters and near misses. Yeah, that won't make me nervous at all.

I could have done without the two traffic near misses as well. Some idiot nearly ran us off the road on the way to the airport. Roger Mexico leaned on his horn, while I just tried to get my heartrate back to normal. And then at the airport a BMW almost plowed into us in his attempt to find a place to atop in the white zone.

("The white zone is for loading and unloading...)

Great. Now I'm quoting Airplane! in my head. Hey brain, why don't you just throw the airport scene from Rain Man into the mix?

(Charlie: Ray, all airlines have crashed at one time or another, that doesn't mean that they are not safe.
Raymond: Qantas. Qantas never crashed.
Charlie: Qantas?
Raymond: Never crashed.
Charlie: Oh, that's gonna do me a lot of good because Qantas doesn't fly to Los Angeles out of Cincinnati, you have to get to Melbourne, Melbourne Australia, in order to get the plane that flies to Los Angeles!
Raymond: Yeah, Melbourne is the capital.)

Lovely.

There were some things that could have gone better on this trip. I could have successfully tracked down Crew. I could have reminded Roger Mexico to get film for his camera so I'd actually have pictures. I could have slept somewhere that wasn't the site of Kitty Smackdown. I could have done without the two days where I was almost too depressed to move, feeling generally worthless, worrying Roger Mexico to the point where he badgered me with questions about my well being.

But overall, I'd say it was a good trip. I got a bit of exercise, saw two good movies and one OK one, got some writing done, finished reading my book, ate pretty well, got to sightsee in a city I'd never been to before, had a fabulous 14 hours in NYC, and managed to untie at least a few wires in my head for a little while.

And, of course, I got to see Roger Mexico.

With the physical distance between us, our friendship has shifted to new levels yet again, and I suppose it will take me a little time to adjust to it. At times there were uncomfortable silences and nervous tensions in the air between us, mostly due to the stupid things going on in my head. I'd told him extensively about my mental state before the trip. I didn't want to worry him, but I knew if one of my moods hit it would possibly trouble him. I know I'm no fun when I'm in that state, and I was worried about being an ever-present burden that he had to put up with for the week. I became obsessive about trying not to make myself a nuisance. I did the dishes constantly. I tried not to interrupt him when he was working on music or watching TV or listening to music. I tried to will myself smaller, attempting to make myself as much of a non-presence as possible so I wouldn't interrupt his daily routine.

In essence, my moments of insanity ruined what could have been a great visit. And i didn't even have the decency to explain why I was acting so crazy. What parts of it I can explain, that is. There are some parts I haven't figured out, and some parts that I'm not ready to talk about. My mouth doesn't know how to make those words yet. And I'm not so sure if he's ready to hear some of the things going on inside my head.

I'll try to tell him as much as I can in an email sometime this week. I owe it to him.

It's really hard to be in this situation; part of me wants to tell him everything and accept the mental support he wants to give, and part of me stubbornly refuses to discuss things, too worried about what his reaction would be, preferring instead to act all weird and quiet.

What the hell is wrong with me? I can't even talk to one of my best friends without getting bitchy and defensive. I can't have a relaxing vacation like a normal person. At times, I can't bring myself to like me.

And tomorrow i go back to losing my identity in the corporate world. And all the problems I didn't pack with me on the trip are waiting at home in ambush, and I haven't got a clue where to begin to deal with them.

It was nice to pretend they didn't exist though, if only for a week. It was nice to make the real world go away for a little while.

Time check. 5 hours, 25 minutes. My, I write slow.

How long before I learn to deal with Life effectively?

(I'm doing better now. Chalk a lot of it up to the insomnia, but I was really in a self-degrading mood this morning. I'm home now, safe and sound. I feel bad for Roger Mexico that I was so moody and such a pain to deal with all week. Hopefully it didn't mess up our visit too badly. I'm not saying things are perfect right now, but I'm not in the same frame of mind as I was when I originally wrote this post. I'm not sure how to completely fix me, but I have a few ideas, and a few pages of the instrction manual are a bit clearer now. I've figured some things out, but I'm not quite sure how to apply the knowledge I've gained.

Baby steps. I won't get there tomorrow, but hopefully I'll get there eventually.)

Monday, July 16, 2001

Winging It (Part Two)



(Blogger has decided I babble too much in my posts - just like in real life! - so I had to do this post in two parts. Check out the archives for the first part of Myopic and Roger Mexico's Excellent Adventure in New York.)

We moved the car uptown, and again found a spot located near where we would be for the evening. I don't know what we did to appease the parking gods, but I'm not complaining. After walking around Midtown for a few minutes, we decided to have dinner at Ishihama, a Japanese restaurant that seemed to be reasonably priced. I was starving at this point, since I'd only had a hot dog from a street vendor all day. I darted off to the bathroom to change clothes, telling Roger Mexico to order me a Diet Coke. When I returned, my drink was waiting for me and Roger Mexico was grinning slightly to himself. "I ordered us an appetizer."

"OK. You gonna tell me what it is?" Obviously, it wasn't any of the sushi, since Roger Mexico is a vegetarian. After a few minutes of me questioning him, he finally told me.

"I ordered the hijiki. It's seaweed. I ordered cooked seaweed."

After my mind stopped retching, envisioning green slimy salt-water smelling stuff on a plate, I agreed that I would least try it. (Roger Mexico seems to have a talent for making me try food I would otherwise not consider. He's introduced me to tofu, Thai food, and every fake meat product under the sun. He even made me eat a mushroom on my pizza the other night.) And after the server brought it to the table, I hesitantly sampled it. It wasn't green or slimy. It was fabulous. The only thing that distracted me from devouring it was the arrival of the miso soup, which was quite yummy as well.

I ended up ordering the yaki udon (pan fried noodles with chicken and vegetables), which was equally good. I decided to forgo the chopsticks, though. My chopstick dexterity leaves something to be desired, and at one point I ended up dropping a bite of hijiki into my soup. Roger Mexico had never braved chopsticks, so I passed on my somewhat shoddy knowledge until the waitress brought the Ugly Americans utensils they could handle. I ended up only being able to finish half of my meal, and left the restaurant with a happy little "I NY" bag full of Japanese noodles for the next day's lunch.

After dinner, we walked up to Times Square (which must be viewed at night to get the proper effect), and after staring at the pretty lights murmuring "Wow" like a couple of slack-jawed yokels, we took the subway back down to SoHo for the Add N to (X) show at the Knitting Factory.

I'll admit, I wasn't too thrilled about the show going in. I'd heard of the band before, and I'd allegedly listened to one of their albums at Roger Mexico's apartment months ago, but I couldn't recall anything about them. (To be honest, most of the music I listen to at Roger Mexico's is stuff I've never heard. Listening to music with him is like Electronic Music 101. Before the show started, I was corrected on my pronunciation of both "Moog" and "Theramin." I never said I knew everything. "That's why I keep you around," I remarked.) To his credit, the band rocked. Not that I'm going to run out and buy the entire Add N to (X) catalog, but I was pleasantly surprised. The only letdown was I missed the encore of Iggy Pop's "I Wanna Be Your Dog" because I was in search of the bathroom.

We hopped the subway back to Downtime, which as far as I can tell houses music performance space during the day. Some of the floors had been converted into an industrial/goth club (Albion/Batcave, from the two so-named clubs that were no longer in existence). Three floors, three dance floors with different formats. Whoo hoo! The main dance floor was a bit too techno-y for our tastes (and the dancers onstage were laughably bad. Ooh, look! Goth vogueing!) The second room seemed to be a living shrine to Andrew Eldritch, since every song was either by Sisters of Mercy or a band that sounded just like them. Don't get me wrong. I like that music, but in small doses. I'm all about the variety thing.

So was Roger Mexico, apparently. He suggested we go check out the "Not Sisters of Mercy Room." Good choice. The music in the third room varied from Frontline Assembly to 80's alternative (Alphaville! Adam Ant!) to Lords of Acid, so we decided to stay there. I lost him on the dance floor during a Depeche Mode song, at which point I realized there were about 10 tall guys with little or no hair on the dance floor, all wearing black shirts. And they all danced like Roger Mexico. I gave up and started dancing on my own. I would have been out there all night if it had been up to me, but Roger Mexico yanked me off the dance floor at 2:15 am. The day had finally caught up with him, and we still had a long drive ahead of us.

The radio selections were equally as bad on the way home, so we just gave up and turned the damn thing off. We were both excited about the great day we'd had, but exhaustion was sitting in the back seat, poking us in the back of our heads. "Hey, at least I'm not hallucinating yet," Roger Mexico remarked, and launched into a story of a practically non-stop drive from Pittsburgh to Denver he made when he was 16 where the lines on the road criss-crossed in front of him. Great. How reassuring. Thanks, dude.

(Actually I can't say anything, since I used to hallucinate police cars and hitchhikers on a regular basis when I drove home exhausted from 1470 West in Dayton.)

We had to pay a toll to get back into Pennsylvania, and I decided that all of the tolls we'd been paying were actually fees to get out of New Jersey. We'd never had to pay to get in, but we paid tolls to enter the Holland Tunnel and to get home. Coincidence? I think not.

We'd considered going back into the city the next day, but we ended up sleeping late. After sending off an apologetic email to Crew (who'd tried his best to track us down, but was unable to reach us since we'd ditched the scary hotel and I didn't have my cel), we went to WalMart to buy a replacement taillight bulb for Roger Mexico's car, and stopped off for hot fudge sundaes at the local ice cream place. Big exciting times, people.

And now thanks to Blogger eating my post a billion times (thank you, copy function, for saving what I wrote) and trying to watch The Mists of Avalon on TNT, it's nearly 2:00 am, and the alarm is set to go off at 5:30. My plane isn't scheduled to depart until 2:25 pm, but Roger Mexico has to take me back to Philly and still manage to be at work by 9:00 am. I feel bad that he has to get up early and drive me so far, but unfortunately there's no other option.

I don't want to sleep. It means my vacation is over.

It'll be good to get home, though. I miss all my friends back in Cincinnati. (And their cats.) I miss my car. I miss LaRosa's pizza. And in 16 hours or so, I'll be on my way to Zappagirl's for coffee and Bring It On therapy.

Guess I should attempt to get a few hours of sleep. After I repack my luggage. Argh.

Aw, crap. Now TNT is showing Excalibur. I'm never going to get to sleep. Good thing there's still some coffee left.

Sunday, July 15, 2001

Winging It (Part One)



So you want to hear about the big trip to New York? Well, let's see. Where to begin....

The original plan was to get up at 8 am so we could be on the road by 9. Yeah, right. Neither Roger Mexico nor I are morning people, so I had a feeling that our morning would start a little later than that.

I was awakened by the words, "Go wake her up, Bowie!" followed by a cat being thrown on my stomach. Oh yeah, that beats a beeping alarm.

Before we left, I checked my email to see if Crew had replied to arrange a meeting while I was slumming in his city. No email. I sent him a quick message letting him know that we were running late, and if he could get back to me within the hour, we could still pull off the tentative brunch plans on Sunday.

No such luck.

After stopping at a somewhat dubious yard sale on the way to the expressway (Roger Mexico is in the market for a bike, since there's an upcoming music festival taking place on his street, making driving to work nigh impossible), we hit the road and attempted to find a decent radio station to listen to on the drive. The best we could do was a station playing Hootie and the Blowfish. (Which led to both of us reluctantly admitting that we actually owned copies of Cracked Rear View. Our alternative cred went out the window for a few minutes.) Other than that, the drive wasn't too bad. We hit the Holland Tunnel about an hour after leaving the apartment (minus the yard sale stop).

There was a $6.00 toll to actually enter the Holland Tunnel. They charge you to go to New York, folks.

After a few wrong turns (we ended up having to follow a detour into Brooklyn), we found our way to NoHo, where our hotel was located. Remarkably, we managed to find a metered parking spot about a block away. After feeding the meter all of the quarters in our pockets, we set out to explore. We had vague plans at best, and decided we'd just wing it without a map. We walked past CBGB's, which Roger Mexico would have completely missed if I hadn't said anything. (In his defense, it's not like there's big marquees or anything. It's a pretty unassuming little place; I almost missed it.)

As we were walking along, Roger Mexico reminded me that if I wanted to stop anywhere, I just had to let him know. "I'm fine," I replied. "At this point I don't care if we go anywhere or do anything. I'm just jazzed that we're in New York."

Roger Mexico wanted to go CD shopping, and both of the stores he wanted to check out were in the neighborhood. We stopped at the first one, Bleeker Bob's, and didn't find anything he was looking for, so we continued on. After stopping in Washington Square Park to watch a street performer (who got in trouble because he was amplifying his show), his friend from the Evil Cruise Line joined us. We had to drop off another Evil Cruise Line employee before we could do anything else, so we headed over to the piers.

All I can say is I'm glad I didn't have to do any driving. Intimidating is a word that comes to mind. That word could also be applied to the ship that Evil Cruise Line employee was being dropped off at. I knew cruise ships were huge and all, but my first sighting of one up close was overwhelming. Of course, I was the only one in the car who thought this, since I was the only one who hadn't spent several months working on one. To them, it was no big deal.

On the way back to the Village, Roger Mexico looked up from the copy of The Village Voice that he was looking through. "Hey, Add N to (X) is playing tonight at the Knitting Factory! Do you want to go?" He looked like a five-year-old who'd brought home a stray puppy. I had thought we were going to hit a dance club, but I agreed. At the very least, I could say I saw a show at the Knitting Factory, which was pretty cool in my book.

We found a place to park (with no meter!), and continued with the CD shopping. Roger Mexico did manage to find two albums that he was looking for at Other Music (the red-headed stepchild of Tower Records), and set off to find a cafe where we could all have coffee and chit-chat. Well, the boys chit-chatted. They were busy talking shop (keyboard programming) and reminiscing about last summer on the Evil Cruise Line. I sipped at my coffee (which was disappointingly lukewarm), and spent my time pretending to know what they were talking about. Much nodding and smiling was involved.

Roger Mexico's friend spent a few months in India, and he and a friend are putting together a documentary on the festival they took part in. We stopped by the friend's studio and got a look at a few of the rough cuts before we walked back to the car to check into the hotel.

We had already been warned that the hotel was equipped with a community bathroom for the entire hall to use, but it was considerably cheaper than any other lodging we'd found. We weren't expecting the Hilton. What we weren't expecting was a glorified closet with a bed and walls that didn't reach the ceiling or floor. Or the folks hanging in the lobby that looked like they were answering an extras call for the part of "Derelict #1" on NYPD Blue. Thankfully, the desk clerk let us take a look at the "room" before we checked in. I get the feeling he'd done this before. We respectfully cancelled our reservation and returned to the car to consider our options. We could spend the extra bucks and get a reasonable motel in New Jersey, but that would cut into our fun money; we could drive back to PA and change clothes there for the evening's festivities, but that would be an awful lot of driving for a few hours of night life; or we could change clothes in the car and continue on with our plans. Yeah, that's the ticket. (Actually, I opted for changing clothes in the bathroom of whatever restaurant we selected for dinner. I'm not above changing clothes in the car, but the outfit I'd picked out would have involved me flashing the entire neighborhood. No thanks.)

With this change in plans, we would have enough money to go to the show at the Knitting Factory and the dance club. For the thousandth time that day, "We'll wing it" became our motto.

(Blogger seems to be telling me that I've written too much, so I'll be following this with another post continuing my oh-so-exciting escapades in the Big Apple. Hang tight. There's more to this story.)

Friday, July 13, 2001

It Was the Best of Times, It Was the Worst of Times...



Today has not gone as planned. This is partially a good thing, and partially a bad thing.

The original plan for the day was to go to work with Roger Mexico this afternoon, to get a look-see at what he does all day. After that we were supposed to attend a department cookout, where I would meet more of his co-workers.

Roger Mexico called this morning to inform me that he was going to have to work through his lunch and he wouldn't be able to pick me up for the sightseeing and the cookout. He was having an extremely bad day, and was going to be spending the majority of the afternoon running cable in the Arts Center.

I was a little bummed, but decided to spend the day having Girl Time and just relaxing. I'd take a long shower, let my hair dry naturally instead of subjecting my follicles to the hair dryer, paint my toenails. (I've just discovered the joys of painting my toenails. It always seemed like such a frivolous and girly thing to do, but then I realized that was the point and now I'm hooked. I'm so glad I remembered to pack nail polish.)

And so I spent the entire afternoon doing nothing of any consequences. I took said shower, painted my nails blue, made a baked potato and herbal iced tea for lunch, hit the internet, listened to the Beastie Boys, watched some guilty pleasure TV (The PowerPuff Girls, Animaniacs, the end of Adventures in Babysitting, Emergency Vets - I love this show except when they can't save an animal; then I have to change the channel), read a little Harry Potter (by the way...Zappagirl? If you're looking for your copy of Sorcerers' Stone...I forgot to tell you I borrowed it.). Later I made some popcorn and a pot of Mocha Java and watched the end of I Still Know What You Did Last Summer. I didn't guilt myself that I should be out walking or touring historical sites or doing anything productive. It was absolutely relaxing and wonderful.

(Except for the fact that the 3-week old English mastiff puppy on Emergency Vets had to be euthanized. I cried. She was so cute.)

Roger Mexico was worried that the change in plans would ruin my day. I tried to make him understand that this is exactly what I needed on my vacation; a chance to unwind. Not that I wouldn't have minded spending the day at the university with him, but this wasn't a bad contingency plan.

Roger Mexico called later in the afternoon with yet another change in plans; he had to go out after work with some departmental bigwigs, and even though it was a semi-social meeting, it would still be official businesslike and it would be best if he went sans guest. Again I explained to him that it wasn't a big deal, and we could go get a beer after he got back. Plans weren't cancelled; they were just postponed a little.

After reassuring him, "Yes, it's alright. No, I'm not upset. Yes, I'm having a good vacation day," about a billion times, I went off to clean up the kitchen.

I feel awful for him. I'm having one of the best weeks of my life, and Life dealt him a junk hand of a day. It's obviously frustrating him, and he's upset and worried and there's not a damn thing I can do to help. He's always been there for me when I've had these kinds of days, and I'm trying to return the favor.

It's difficult to accept that the best I can do for him is lend a compassionate and caring ear while he vents. I want to do more for him, something nice to make his day better, but given the fact that they roll up the streets in his neighborhood at 5 pm and I have no transportation, my choices are kinda limited. If I had more money, I'd run across the street and buy him a good bottle of merlot from the wine shop.

And yes, I know that alcohol is no solution to a problem, but sometimes dulling the pain of day-to-day living by getting tipsy is not a bad thing. (See, if he was a girl, I'd recommend a bottle of red wine and a viewing of Bring It On. It's worked for me recently.)

We've always said that only one of us was allowed to go crazy or get depressed at a time. Guess my ride on the emotional rollercoaster is over for the moment, and he's waiting in the turnstiles for my seat.

And watching from the observation deck on this ride is no fun.

Oh well. We'll go get a couple of beers tonight at the pub across the street, and we'll talk out whatever he feels the need to share. And tomorrow morning we leave for New York City, so we'll hopefully have a good weekend. My vacation is almost over, and we're going to have fun if it kills me. This good time's got to last us a while.

So, until he gets back, I'm going back to Girl Time. I think there's some fettucini Alfredo in the freezer, and I bet Jeopardy! is on somewhere.

Tuesday, July 10, 2001

Notes From the Road



Greetings from Bethlehem, PA. I'm currently sitting in Roger Mexico's living room, listening to Radiohead and quaffing the fine local brew, trying to type quietly so as not to wake my host.

Who am I kidding? The boy could sleep through a full scale nuclear assault.

(Oh, and speaking of Radiohead, they're the guest stars this week on South Park. Can I say how terrified I am?)

So, to catch up...Rosencrantz took me to the airport bright and early on Saturday morning. I was still nervous about the whole travelling alone thing, and I'd never used e-tickets before. Oh yeah, and I was exhausted from the happy hour that I stayed much too long at the night before. So I mumbled something to the clerk at the ticket counter approximating my reservation info, and he managed to pull my boarding passes in about 30 seconds, and was really nice to me. Yay Northwest Airlines.

The flight(s) to Philadelphia were rather uneventful. A bit of turbulence, screaming kids during take-off. Roger Mexico was a little late picking me up( due to traffic). We tossed my bags in the trunk and set off to explore Philadelphia. We did the touristy stuff; we saw the Liberty Bell and walked through part of Independence Hall. I'm not a big history buff, but it's always cool to see the things you've read about in your elementary school social studies class. The Avenues of the Arts section of town was nearby, so we walked around there as well, checking out the shops and lamenting the fact that we missed Echo and the Bunnymen by two days.

It started to get dark, and I had a gigantic blister on my toe, so we headed back to his apartment, stopping on the way to get some beer. Apparently beer is only available from licensed beer distributors here, rather than being in every gas station and mini-mart in the city. Weird, but not a big deal. We had a few beers and fell asleep in front of the TV. (Turner Movie Classics was showing Jaws, which I haven't seen in its entirety since my father traumatized us by taking the family to the theater to see it in the 70s. And since I fell asleep, I guess I still haven't seen it since.)

On Sunday, we decided to go see A.I. at the local theater. Since everyone with internet access has dissected this movie with a fine-edged instrument, I'll forgo the nitpicky comments. It was uneven, but overall we decided we liked it. Jude Law was good, as was Hayley Joel Osment. I was almost as excited about the trailers as I was the movie, though. Fellowship of the Ring, Jurassic Park III, and Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone! I was hopping up and down in my seat like a giddy seven year old. Roger Mexico just looked at me like I was a complete freak. Which I am.

After a quick stop at the grocery store (we're trying to be frugal and save our money for New York this weekend), we went back to the apartment and had a quick dinner before stopping over at a get-together with Roger Mexico's co-workers. I was the only woman, the only non-theater person, and the only non-employee of the university, so at times I was a little lost in the conversation. But all in all, Roger Mexico works with quite nice folks.

I must also say that the city itself is quite nice. A lot of the buildings are quite old, and there's a definite small town charm to it all. Driving past the abandoned steel mill was really depressing, but fascinating. Miles and miles of empty buildings and long untouched machinery. It reminded me of growing up in my hometown when they shut the General Motors plant down. One minute a booming industry that was the lifeblood of the town, the next...nothing. Sad. But it seems that the city is starting to bounce back.

I wish I could say I slept well that night, but I ended up having horrendous nightmares, which culminated in the cats knocking a large wooden board onto my legs at 6:00 am. Ouch. At least it stopped the bad dreams, I guess.

I puttered around the apartment for the majority of the day, and amused myself by cleaning Roger Mexico's kitchen while he was at work. He hadn't unpacked all his dishes, so I took it upon myself to unpack the last box, wash the dishes, and find homes for them in the cabinets. It kept me busy, and made me feel like I was earning my keep.

After dinner, we walked to the library to return a few movies and ended up renting a few as well. Tonight was The Hudsucker Proxy, which has been on my list of movies to rent for ages. The Coen brothers and Sam Raimi...hee. And Bruce Campbell was in it. Yay! I'm going to be saying "You know...for kids," for the next few weeks.

Tomorrow I swear I'm going to walk around the neighborhood. There's a lot of little shops within a few blocks, as well as a large bookstore and a movie theater (which is showing Doctor Dolittle 2, which I kind of want to see). And tomorrow night I think we're going to drive to New Hope, which apparently is an artsy little town near Philly. Because, as lovely as the town is, it's not exactly the excitement capital of the world, and we don't want to spend every night glued to the TV watching movies.

And I need to buy real coffee. Roger Mexico unintentionally bought decaf. And it's Folgers. This will not do, and unless he wants me to drink all of his instant Cafe Mocha (which actually isn't half bad), I need to get some real stuff. There's a gourmet coffee shop up the street; I'm sure they have carry-out beans. I figure it's the least I can do since he's sharing his fake chicken with me.

There's also an open poetry reading on Friday at a nearby shop, and if I can persuade Roger Mexico to dig out his copy of my book, I may go and possibly unleash my angsty verse upon the unsuspecting locals. Or I may just sit there like a wimp and politely listen.

The New York trip is shaping up to be interesting but busy. We're trying to figure out how to meet up with two of Roger Mexico's co-workers from previous jobs as well as arranging a meeting with Crew and J, as well as going shopping for CDs in a few trendy little shops in the Village and hitting a club that night. Of course, we still haven't decided when we're actually leaving for the city, or where we're going to stay. Roger Mexico is worse at planning ahead than I am, and that's saying something.

Some relaxing vacation, huh? I'm living the glamorous life even in the middle of nowhere.

Monday, July 02, 2001

A Change in Plans



Another night where sleep eludes me. Hopefully if I post, I'll be able to stop my brain from whirring around inside my head enough to get a few hours of rest.

My vacation plans have changed. Originally I was planning to spend a week at Sirius Rising with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, JohnnyB, Hacksaw, and other friends. But at the last minute, I changed my mind.

It comes as no secret to those who know me that I've been going through some tough times. Some of it is easily explained (job stress, the departure of Roger Mexico), but a lot of it is related to deep seated traumas that happened years ago, and still have a tendency to surface at the most inopportune moments. And some of it is a complete mystery to even me.

It's been getting steadily worse, ranging from the occasional bad day to the point when my emotions are in complete control (but have yet to receive their drivers' license). Sometimes I have no idea who's driving my brain, but I feel like a passenger in the back of a taxi that knows this can't possibly be the shortest way to the airport.

Lately it's been showing up when I'm around large groups of people, especially if the majority of the group are strangers. I've ranged from internal comments of "What the hell am I doing here? Get me out, NOW!" to full blown major panic attacks. The warning signs have been getting louder and brighter - buzzing neon signs that continually blink "You have a problem. Do something about it."

After the last warning sign announced itself, not by blinking excitedly but by smacking me hard across the face, I sat back and did some major thinking. The result, after a lot of tear-filled evenings and emails, is that I am not going to Sirius Rising next week. Given my unpredictability in situations as of late, I figured it wouldn't be a good idea to attend a week-long workshop where I'd be socializing with tons of new people who could set me off with a word.

Instead, I will be spending the week with Roger Mexico in The Middle of Nowhere, Pennsylvania. In doing this, I will accomplish a lot of things. I'll get out of town, thereby making it an official vacation (plane ride and all!). I'll have a lot of time to myself during the day to write or veg or whatever, to try to sort out whatever wiring has gone bad in my head. I'm no professional, but I don't see the need to call someone in to fix things if it's something I can manage with a little time and a psychological screwdriver. And of course, it will allow me the opportunity to see Roger Mexico, whom I have missed terribly.

I submitted my bid to Priceline and it was approved. I have confirmation; I'm Philly bound Saturday morning, by way of Detroit. (Briefly off topic - why are my layovers always in Detroit? I have flown on a total of four vacations, this one included, and the only ones with layovers ditched me in the Motor City. Am I going to be thrown out of an airport bar again because of my cigarettes?)

To be honest, this is all very scary to me. I've never made my own airline reservations; I've never travelled alone. And now here I sit with a big chunk of change withdrawn from my checking account and a printed itinerary of Northwest flights. It's a bit nerve-wracking. I have to remind myself that people do this everyday, and I am fully capable of checking in my luggage and finding my gate without someone holding my hand.

Roger Mexico seems to be worried that I'm going to be bored in his new hometown during the daytime while he's away at work. He's assured me that he basically lives in the center of town, so there will be plenty of things within walking distance for me to check out. He's talking a weekend trip to New York City. I've explained that I don't need to be entertained, and I'd be perfectly happy with hanging out with him and the kitties doing nothing, just like we used to do when he lived a few blocks away. (Well, except this time we'd have cable.) But if I have to spend a weekend in the Big Apple, I'll manage somehow. Sigh.

(Side note to Crew: still not definite on plans yet, but I swear I will let you know if we require the tourguiding expertise offered up by J and yourself. At the least, I'd love to meet for a cup of coffee, or whatever it is that you drink. Although the meeting of two such intellects could be a dangerous proposition, and I'm pretty much letting Roger Mexico plan this whole shebang. He's being good enough to put with me for nine days solid; I don't want to push my luck asking for more.)

I still feel a bit bad about bailing on the original plans, but I just have a feeling that this is a much better game plan to clear my head. I didn't want to run the risk of me sulking in my tent, while Rosencrantz tried to lure me out for Hacksaw's drumming workshop. Lately, I've found myself more comfortable explaining the inner-workings of my head to Roger Mexico, so I think the chances of me becoming a complete basket case around him are much smaller. Not that most of my other friends haven't been supportive in regards to what's going on with me lately: Rosencrantz sent me a lovely email offering whatever help she can provide, and Zappagirl and I spent a lengthy evening discussing it. Jools has offered up support at work. And of course Roger Mexico and Crew have sent incredibly wonderful emails reassuring me that the problems at hand are not as insurmountable as they seem.

Thanks, all of you. It means a lot, and makes me feel much less alone and small and nicotine-stained. (Sorry. I'd written that phrase years ago for a character in a story I never finished, and I've been dying to use it for quite some time. Pardon me while I check that off my "to do" list.)

I hope I'm making the right decision. I'm in a pretty fragile mental state at the moment, and I'm not really enjoying it. I've been trying to keep it from interfering with this page, since "depressed online journalist" does not make "interesting reading." However, I also don't want to lie here. Sometimes it's really fun pretending to be one of the beautiful people, but sometimes this page is just me, warts and all. I just want to get back to being the overcaffeinated cynical ingenue that you all know and like a bit.

And all of this talk of vacation reminds me that I really must work on expanding this site. I need to have a place to put vacation photos, after all.