Pinned

In this picture, the holes in my earlobes are from misguided youthful choices. But if you look in the very top of my ear, there's a square of beige tape. That's an acupuncture tack.

So, I've been going to acupuncture.

A new place, Mend, opened near my office in Hampden, and after hearing good things, I decided to try it out.

There are a few things about acupuncture to know before going:

1. Know WHY you want to go. Acupuncture is for a specific malady or issue. I'm told you can go for preventative purposes, but I think it still has to be for something in particular. I, myself, decided to try it because I am...how shall I put this....MILDLY EXTREMELY HIGH STRUNG. I decided to try acupuncture as a way of addressing my insomnia and MILDLY EXTREME HIGH STRINGINESS. 

2. The needles do not, usually, hurt. Sometimes it's like a mosquito sting, but only in certain places. While you're lying there, the area around the needles will sometimes itch a bit and some of mine do turn red for an hour or so after. But, other than that, there's no discomfort.

3. You don't have to DO anything.

The reason I state #3 is because, on my first visit, after a consultation, the acupuncturist put the various needles in me, and then told me to just lay back and relax. I asked her what I was supposed to do, and she said - Nothing. Just lie there, daydream, sleep, or bring some headphones or a book. Stay for at least 30 minutes. "The needles are doing all the work," she said.

I've now been 5 times, and I'm a total pro. I go, I get my needles for the day, and I zonk out on a ridiculously comfortable leather chair. For someone who can only nap for 10-20 minutes at a time, I completely pass out during acupuncture. Today, I napped for a record 40 minutes. Out cold. 

The acupuncture I go to is community acupuncture, meaning there are 7 chairs in the room and various other people napping and relaxing during their treatments. But it's very quiet, with soft music playing, and it smells really nice. The room is always just a little bit cool, perfect for napping, and there are deliciously soft blankets hanging on a rack if you need one. There's something strangely peaceful about napping in a room with strangers while full of pins. It's so relaxing. I can't explain why.

The ear tacks are a new part of treatment - she put them in this afternoon, and you can wear them for up to two days. There's a tiny little acupuncture needle on the other side of the tape, and it just stays in your ears for prolonged treatment. 

Does it work? I think so. In the five weeks since I started, I'm sleeping better, my late-afternoon tension headaches have faded, and I definitely feel several degrees less MILDLY EXTREMELY HIGH STRUNG.

I have a few sessions left, and then will re-evaluate how the whole process worked. But, so far, at the very least, it's not doing any harm and I get to go and take an expensive nap in a nice smelling room full of peaceful strangers. 

Update: And Then That Happened.

Hadi from Turkish Airlines finally called me around 12:45 this afternoon, just as I was beginning to tip into panic mode again.


They had my bag. Green-gray, not black. It had somehow appeared on the baggage carousel about ten minutes after we'd frantically run to catch our Delta flight. I have no idea why one piece of baggage would be pushed out of the aircraft a good hour and a half after everything else, and, quite frankly, I don't want to know.


Hadi was ready to ship my bag to Baltimore, but I explained that I was scheduled to leave early tomorrow morning to come back to New York. New Kid, who we are going to stay with this weekend, generously offered to act as guardian of my wandering suitcase, and Hadi said it was no problem to have the delivery service drop the bag off at her office in midtown Manhattan. At 2:30, I got a text from her saying that the delivery service had called to confirm the bag was on its way. Subsequently, I received an email from Hadi saying that the bag had been shipped out, and should be to New Kid before 6pm.


Relief doesn't even begin to describe it. To celebrate the fact that I would not have to purchase an entirely new wardrobe, at least at the moment, I went out and bought a pair of killer glitter stillettoes to wear with the little black dress I have for New Years. ON SALE. FROM MARSHALLS. LIVIN' THA LIFE, BITCHES. 


Around 7:30, I received a text from New Kid stating that she was still hanging around at work waiting for my bag, did I have any idea when it might be arriving, and that this hanging around was leading to unproductive behavior such as perusing oil tiki paintings online and should she buy one? I responded "No idea, and yes, of course you should."


A call to JFK's baggage claim delivery person (is there some sort of term for this area of work? Perhaps "Disorganizer?") revealed that there were 16 airlines with bags on board a van that was working its way through New York City, and if my bag hadn't arrived by 9pm to call them.


I felt guilty, as though I'd somehow foisted my bad Turkish Airlines juju off on my innocent, helpful friend. I also didn't want her waiting around at work until 9:30 for my bag, which by now should have its own hashtag. 


#lostbaggageglitterati


#the45_kilo_ulcer


#overpackingruinsgirlandendsallofherpersonalrelationships


Pick whichever one you like. They're all up for grabs, I believe.


So I bit the bullet and called the baggage claim delivery person (hereinafter referred to as "The Disorganizer") and explained the situation, asking if the address for the destination of the bag could be changed to New Kid's home address. Realizing that this could be a completely disastrous error, given that they lost the bag between the belly of TK0001 and the baggage carousel. Giving them too many directives didn't seem a wise idea at this point, but I couldn't have New Kid sitting around her office until 9pm.


It's a good thing I chose this course of action, because when New Kid called the dispatcher to confirm the change of address from one area of Manhattan (mid) to another (lower), they informed her that it should arrive "sometime before midnight."


How many bags, I ask you, are on a van that results in a ten hour tour of New York City?


Nevermind, I don't want to know.


So it's 9:30pm, we are scheduled to leave here at 7am. I am hingeing all my bets and bringing with me only my new shooo-ess, my black New Years dress, and a few pairs of clean underwear and socks. If I err in the wrong and my bag does not make it to New Kid's tonight, and somehow disappears again, I will be spending the weekend in one pair of jeans and inappropriate shoes for daytime. 


My internal clock is all whack and thinks it's time to go to bed ("IT'S 4:30AM!" it says), but I am trying to coax it into staying awake until at least ten, so that I can sleep past 3am. So far, the jet lag actually hasn't been too bad. My formula for heading off severe jet lag shall be revealed later. In tableau form. Be excited.


When I get my camera cord, that is. Out of the suitcase that, by now, must smell like a high school locker room with all of my dirty, dusty, sweaty clothes lumped into it for going on four days. 


Fingers crossed that thing is circling lower Manhattan as we speak, and that it's safely in New Kid's hands before I arrive tomorrow morning....


UPDATE ON THE UPDATE:
9:42pm - text from New Kid
"I have the suitcase."


You can all breathe now.

Welcome Back!

It's pretty natural that after five days of lounging, eating, drinking, napping, reading, biking, swimming, tanning, and exploring in Key West, real life is gonna walk right up and smack you in the face.

I tried to cushion it, though. I took a couple of extra days off of work after the return. We got in after midnight, I slept late the next day. And the next day. I used to not be able to sleep past 7:30. Somehow, in the past ten days, my internal alarm clock reverted back to the days when I couldn't wake up before ten. How quickly it forgets!

A number of things foiled my plan for Ultimate Relaxation, however.

First, I left hot, breezy, humid Key West and stumbled off the plane at BWI (it was almost one o'clock in the morning; what do you expect from me?!) into...fall? Did I not leave Baltimore just a few days after Labor Day only to skip an entire season? You know, that weird in-between-summer-and-fall season where CVS bombards you with Halloween but it's 90 degrees and sticky as hell outside? What happened to that? I woke up to discover that cold dampness had somehow settled in the northeast. It pained my soul, which had gotten quite used to lush greenery and turquoise water. (Two things that I actually really miss about living in Florida.)

The second - and much more distressing thing - is that finally some things came to fruition with my housing situation that I have been trying to ignore for awhile. Primarily that my landlord neglected to pay the mortgage for awhile, it seems. A...rather long while. You know, from those rent checks my roommates and I were sending him every month. And, apparently, the bank got upset (as mortgage holders are wont to do), and the whole thing boiled down to a pretty little letter that came through the mail slot addressed TO OCCUPANT and declaring that we no longer had a landlord.

This is not, as you might think, a good thing.

And so, it seems that a mere six months after moving, I must move again. Like...soon.

Moving is regarded as one of the most highly stressful things to occur in a person's life.

For me, this is double. Quadruple.

I do not handle moving well.

At all.

I wanted to throw up, curl up into the fetal position, throw up again, and cry until I passed out.

I am not being dramatic; that is actually what I wanted to do.

And so, with my tan already fading from the Best Vacation Ever, I am collecting boxes again and about to hit up all of my friends and family, begging them to help me move my 12 boxes of books and Uhaul of used furniture. Again. Six months later.

PS: I have got to give mad props to my boyfriend. Six months ago, he graciously helped me move right after a swim meet earlier that morning, and not only did he entirely prevent me from FTFO ("flipping out"), he can lift heavy things and take things apart and put them back together and make me laugh. You know, manly things. And he has, for whatever reason, gallantly volunteered to assist again. I am not, as it seems, "easygoing" or "flexible" or even "adaptable" to things like moving. I am also not the most pleasant of creatures when I am under duress. Shocking, I know. He deserves a medal. Or some Valium. Or maybe give me the Valium. He can still have a medal.

Spankin' Fresh

It never ceases to amaze me what a good night's sleep, a good morning run, and a triple latte will do for your general demeanor.

Citizens of Baltimore, be happy, for I shall let you ahead of me in traffic and politely hold doors open for you as I feel like a human being once again after weeks of uproot and disorganization.

I did discover, however, that I have been changing all of my personal information to the wrong address. Apparently "5" and "3" are not the same number, and this makes a significant difference in one's address.

Along that vein, it also never ceases to amaze me what some sauvignon blanc and Valerian root will do for your sleeping patterns. Talk about faceplant.

Take Two Vodkas and Wake Me When It's Over

I love change. I embrace change. To not change is to remain stagnant. To not take risks, to avoid rash attempts, is to admit failure before you begin.

That having been said.

I HATE MOVING.

My earthly possessions are split between two locations right now (three, if you count the items my parents are so generously storing for me in their basement) and my life is constant upheaval. I feel as though I am living out of my (overly large and obnoxious, Mary-Poppins-type) handbag and my car. The cats are beside themselves. One moment is pure, unadulterated ecstasy-

-LOOK AT ALL OF THESE BOXES AND CRAP FOR US TO RUN AROUND IN AND BAT AT AND PLAY WITH AND CHEW ON!! IT'S A FREE-FOR-ALL!!-

-and the next moment is undiluted panic-

-WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE, WHY IS EVERYTHING DIFFERENT, OH MY GOD, YOU'RE NOT LEAVING US ARE YOU, DON'T LEAVE, THIS IS HORRIFYING, THE WORLD IS ENDING WE WILL NEVER BE FED AGAIN I AM GOING TO PUKE EVERYWHERE TO SHOW YOU HOW UPSET I AM.

I feel similarly.

On one hand, I can't wait to move into my new place. Bigger bedroom, my own bathroom, awesome roommates.

On the other hand, it means I actually have to move. Like...pick up boxes and whatnot.

So, I did the only thing I knew of to do- I emailed all of my friends and begged them to help me, and framed the whole thing as a party with beer and pizza. I cashed in every favor, took on every willing participant.

I did, however, actually experience chest pains when I looked at the weather forecast for Saturday and saw the potential for snow.

Dear God, do not let it snow.

NO SNOW.

I WILL LOSE IT.

AND PUKE EVERYWHERE TO SHOW HOW UPSET I AM.

Change is good.

Time Management

I've taken a brief hiatus from the Happiness Project because, it seems, I have no concept of Time Management.

I've have felt pulled in far too many directions as of late, and it's my own fault. Saying yes to too many things, placing demands on myself that are un-human, taking on more and more and then wondering why I am run down and stressed out.

I have always been guilty of this. Growing up it was soccer, tennis, field hockey, track, swimming, theater, orchestra, marching band, Student Government, German club, church activities, and so on and so forth. Except, when I was younger, I had boundless energy. As if I am attempting to re-create my childhood, I have suddenly filled up every single time block of every single day of the week and instead of feeling fulfilled and happy, I simply feel so tired and drained that it's a serious effort to brush my teeth at night.

The most unfortunate side effect of all of this is that the more tired I am, the more completely unable I am to sleep. Insomnia has always plagued me, coming and going in the most inconvenient of ways, and this time it seems it's set up house and decided to stay for awhile. Several weeks, to be most precise, and I had no idea what kinds of horrible things sleep deprivation can do to one's body.

I have no idea what this impulsive urge exists within me to commit, commit, commit to everything. And, even worse, I seek out extras for myself. I take on more work, I accept more responsibility, I say "yes" when I mean "Oh shit, no one else is speaking up....gah, I guess I'LL do it..." And I mean this in every facet of my life. I place standards of excellence on myself when it comes to friendships, my career, my writing, my running, and my relationships with everyone around me and when I attempt to meet every standard I find myself losing the ability to meet even the most subpar of standards in the most minute situations.

I know I'm not alone in this, and I know for a fact that many of my friends suffer from the same constant urge to be everything to everyone, except ourselves. That whole "savoring the moment" thing? I got so busy desperately trying to savor, and then I would become angry with myself for not savoring properly, and then somewhat depressed about my failure to savor said moment.

THIS SOMEWHAT DEFEATS THE PURPOSE.

It's the same with being hopeful and optimistic and all of those other things I've been touting. Yes, it certainly relieves some burdens, but the fact of the matter is that sometimes I DO NOT feel hopeful and sometimes I CANNOT feel optimistic. And yet I continue to beat myself up for failing to meet these quotas.

This is absurd.

I do compare myself to others, and right now I am holding money high up on the list because if I had more of it, I could purchase the one thing I so desperately need right now: time. My time is money, and I fricking want more of it.

So, maybe I am failing at happiness at the moment. But that's ok. I think a huge part of ultimate happiness is taking a hard look at yourself and seeing where you fail to hit the mark, and the fact is that I am not failing my friends, my family, my job, or anything else. I'm failing myself for putting too much on my plate. I am letting no one down by not answering a text message or email in what I feel is an appropriate amount of time. I am not a sad excuse for a human being if I want to lay up on the couch and watch reruns of Friends for two hours. I am not compromising my future happiness by telling someone, "No, I can't do this thing on that day with you because I am already doing ten things that day."

At this moment in time, I want to add a sort of sub-category to this Happiness List.

LET YOURSELF OFF THE HOOK.

And let yourself off the hook for not letting yourself off the hook.

And so on and so forth.

Oh God, how I wish for a damn snow day. Anything to just press pause in my life right now, and close my eyes, and catch my breath so that I could just, for one day, do absolutelyfreakingnothing.

Absolute Zero

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

- Emily Dickinson

This happens all the time now.

I'm standing in a house, which I somehow recognize as my own although it looks nothing like any house I've ever lived in. I'm standing in the living room of sorts, and everything is upside down. Furniture tossed and landed sideways, broken, pieces of it everywhere.

Suddenly, the walls begin to bloom. Circles of mold, near the intersection of wall and ceiling, begin to bleed across the wall in dusty, gray-green patterns that look wet to the touch. The mold begins to overtake the house.

And then there's a creaking, moaning sound, and it happens. The water: it's coming. I can hear it, like a freight train, barrelling forth with its terrible velocity. The windows shatter, and it comes pouring in. Great brown waves, bubbling with toxic fury. The water is pouring in, and I am standing in the middle of the room, and I am alone in a house that is filling up with water.

It picks me up, and I reach for anything. My hands touch wall and go straight through, the plaster crumbling between my fingers, the mold oozing out. This house is already in a state of advanced decay. I know that I will not get out and, in my dream, it doesn't seem to matter. Everything in my life is in this house, and everything is destroyed, so what's the point?

I wake up with my hands clenched in fists held so tightly against me that they are asleep. Pins and needles in my forearms and hands and fingers. I've awoken with one of those audible gasps that you hear yourself make and have to wonder, for a moment, if you're still dreaming.

It's come to this: I'm dreaming about Hurricane Katrina.

I've always had the same recurring stress dream: tornadoes. Always the same scenario: black sky, wind whipping, giant tube of anger and electricity bearing down on me. I am always trying to get away. Sometimes I'm in a car, sometimes I'm on foot, but always, always it's going to get me and suck me up and pull the air out of my lungs and kill me. I almost always wake up just as my feet leave the ground. I've had this dream for as long as I can remember.

And now? A moldy, ruined house with water rushing in. Everything is gone. And the worst part- I don't even try to get away.

Because that's the bigger fear, isn't it? The fear of losing everything? The fear of aloneness and loss of family, friends, house, and any little tiny thread of security that binds us to this sometimes terrible and inexplicable world. And there are moments when we see how painfully thin those ties are, like spiderwebs slick with dew. We accumulate more possessions and ideas and experiences in the hope that these things will weigh us down, give us heavier footing. But there are moments when the water rushes in, and we see how dangerously close we can come to losing everything.

But everything isn't lost, it never is, there are always more webs reaching out and as our hands flail around in this world there is always something to grab onto, even just momentarily. And if we let go, just open our hands and let the water come and admit defeat, something will reach out for us. Because life isn't like nightmares. Thankfully.

I am petrified of absolute zero. Like those burn victims who live but whose faces are marred beyond recognition: how do they go on? Loss of sense of self, loss of all ego, loss of any solid footing on this earth. Or people who lose entire communities and family members to natural disasters. How would you even begin to pick through the mourning process? Losing a house, and all that is contained within. The grief would be overwhelming.

Even more than all that, I am afraid of losing the core essence of myself. Mental illness, some neurological misfire...sometimes the damage is invisible; there is no flood, no fire, but everything is gone just the same. A wind snuffing out a candle, poof, nothing but a thread of smoke remains.

But it's like that moment in Mean Girls (Whatever, totally one of my favorite movies.) when Lindsay Lohan's character, Cady, is participating in the Mathletes contest and suddenly gets it. The line is approaching zero, it's getting closer and closer, but "The limit does not exist! The limit does not exist!"

The limit does not exist. If you do not allow it to.

There will always be something. Some thread. Some lifeline, some gossamer strand of hope. Because we're humans, and we look for meaning in fricking everything. You can lose everything, you can scrape your feet on rock bottom and feel the horrible weight of failure and loss bearing down on you like 80 metric tons of debris-infected water, but you will still hope.

"Hope is the thing with feathers," Emily Dickinson wrote. Perched on the soul, singing it's little heart out even if no one is listening.

I'm thinking maybe it's time to take a little break from reading 1 Dead in Attic and working on this presentation that has me reviewing slide after slide of water, mold, and ruin. I have the luxury of taking a step back and disengaging and, if this is working it's way into my dreams and waking me up again and again through the night, then I'm thinking I need a bit of a break.

If I'm lucky, maybe I'll go back to nightmaring about tornadoes. Or the naked dream. That's another classic.