Do Not Pass Go

My migraine doc calls it "dullness." I refer to it as all sorts of things, including "the crazies," "the zappies," "being stupid," "like I'm stoned," and who knows what else. It's common in migraine sufferers, it's actually a symptom of the migraine (right along with light sensitivity, nausea, etc.), and  it means I don't function properly and there's not a thing I can do about it. I can't always tell when I'm in "dullness" mode. There will be days when I'm chugging along, getting things done on the computer, and I switch over to online kakuro (which I play a lot) and I can't add anything in my head or remember numbers from one moment to the next and I realize my brain is misfiring all over the place and whatever I had been working on earlier probably contains tons of mistakes. Or it took 20 times longer to complete a simple task, or I did the wrong thing altogether. This happens to me at some point during the day almost every day. Sometimes it just flusters me and I just have to accept that it's time to put down what I'm doing and move on. Sometimes I'm stuck in a situation where I don't have that luxury.

I don't even know when or exactly how I miscalculated my finances in the last few weeks. I'm usually quite good at managing where my money is at any particular moment, maintaining the delicate balance between savings, checking, and credit card so that as much as possible is in savings and as little is on credit at any given moment. Well, I paid off my credit card in full and somehow thought there was more in my checking and savings than actually existed in my checking and savings and with my wonderful world of auto-payed bills, as of this morning I have $34 liquid.
I'm panicking.
I shouldn't be panicking. If I can quiet down the panic enough to function without the audible wavering of desperation, I make phone calls and drive around tomorrow until I have at least $200 in cash. My head still fucking hurts and it may keep hurting, but I have a feeling it will hurt less once I'm not worried about my bank account.

It's funny that I have all this anxiety about money. Money isn't real. I'm very aware of that. I feel about money the way a child feels about the dark, or maybe the way I'm supposed to feel about my period. I get far more embarrassed talking about money than I do about my menstrual cycle.

Holy shit my head hurts. It's in my neck. Why haven't I gotten my jacuzzi jets fixed? Get Manbug back over here with Dr. Mary Jane. That would be swell.

Fucking fuck, I feel so much I overload and cry and my head explodes. I take everything in and absorb what I can, live and write what I can, try to dispose of the rest as waste product through my tear ducts, and then anything left over turns into pain.

I texted Aural Girl and Possible Boy, asking them to stop by some time tonight because I'm feeling very down. Apparently they are at a Bulls game (migraine hell, which is why I can't be AG's basketball buddy) but still absolutely are happy to stop by whatever time they get back. This makes me cry, too. It's the huge, unhidden, open-hearted love and kindness. It's what means the most to me in this entire world. Not just the two of them. I know, I know, I bring this up a lot, but I've had some amazing friends over the course of my life.
In therapy today we talked about my propensity to sidekick myself. When it comes to another human being, the reasons I love and like and don't and everything in between aren't  a list of assets and liabilities--it's a feeling. I don't think I'm the crazy lady who likes you or doesn't because your aura is too murky, but I definitely trust some sort of deeper sense even as my logical snark-machine of a brain is churning out pros and cons.
So why should anyone like me? I know my list of traits as well as a 27-year-old woman can know her own list, but it's not about traits. I can't get a feeling about myself so I try to base it off other people, but who do I trust? Can I trust myself to choose good people to trust? Again with the spiral of the ether and all that, and somehow the conclusion tends to be that I'm annoying, a social pariah, and I overthink everything.
I have trouble being present in my own life.
I've always written off the random boys who think I'm the greatest thing since sliced bread; I thought I needed somebody stronger than any guy who could possibly be crushing on me. But that's exactly who I need: someone who does see me as wonderful and shiny and all that; that's the real support.

I feel like I'm playing the self-actualization game and I keep completing levels and at some point I win the Relationship charm but I'm not there yet and I can't see how many more levels there are to go or what I still have to do and that's frustrating.

Will someone just sponsor my blog and give me tons of money to write whatever I feel like all day?

Maybe tonight I'll revive my phone sex account. Also good for money.

It Makes the World Go Around

Credit card statement. Contained my dog's health insurance for the year (almost $400) and two auctions. I need to cram my finances into their nice separate accounts where they belong so I don't get double-punched in the stomach after the cash I got for what I managed to sell never makes it into my checking account. Granted, right now I have cash that should go into my checking account, but it's been lounging about my house and purse for almost two weeks now, slowly dwindling as I go for a night out here and an estate sale there. If I actually get my butt out to sell the lamps I bought with some of the cash I made on a purchase sitting on my credit card, and then get more cash for those lamps, I will put it in the bank. I have to. Otherwise, the antiques I sell will have to be made out of drugs.

I was fussy. Neighbor Guy was getting on my nerves; we'd spent too much time together. But today I sold the chandelier for $400 and spent some quality time with Possible Boy. Now I feel shiny again.

When I got to the bar tonight, I sat and talked to the cute Iraqi. At least, we tried to talk. He's been here for all of seven months and while his English may be better than my Arabic, I'm very much a words person so it's hard for me to connect with a person without language. At one point he tried to tell me that I reminded him of Barbarella, but I don't know the movie and he was saying it oddly so I had no clue what he was talking about. Then Possible Boy showed up with Other Girl. I really like Possible Boy. Earlier today he said he wanted to keep a journal but didn't and instead had random bits of receipts and cocktail napkins with things written on them. So tonight I brought with me one of the small blank journals I had in my house (I tend to accumulate and fill blank books in waves). I've never seen someone so genuinely grateful and happy. I'm tired and can't find a more eloquent way to say it right now, but he was just so happy. Not pushing out the smile for show happy, but trying to hold in so he wouldn't look silly for bursting over something that wasn't a big deal. It was the best reaction ever. Flatterers are nice, but I'd trade a million cute Iraqis I barely know for one connected boy who gets giddy over small gestures.

Oh I Believe In Yesterday

Yesterday, I was going to try to sell these chandeliers I got at an auction. $50 for one, $15 for the other. The $50 one is apparently worth at least $300 if I can sell it to a dealer, who will turn around and sell it for double that retail. The other one I like more though it's worth less, maybe just a hundred or two. If someone wants it for enough I will sell it, but I'm really tempted to keep it and put my shiny crystal chandelier in my front entranceway and this new big brass number in the dining room because it goes really well in there...

Yesterday, I only made it to one antique dealer and made zero phone calls. She didn't buy it but I didn't expect her to. I didn't have a migraine until very late in the day. I had Neighbor Guy.

There's an old Sesame Street bit with Itzhak Perlman. A little girl goes running up some stairs and plops down in her chair with a violin. Then Itzhak Perlman (who had polio as a child and walks with crutches) struggles his way up the same stairs, sits down and says "Some things that are easy for you are hard for me." He then picks up his violin and runs scales, arpegios and noodles all over the fingerboard. Then the girl says, "Yeah, but some things are easy for you that are hard for me" and plays a Suzuki Book 3 Bach piece.

I see people's feelings like they're spelled out on "Hello My Name Is" tags. I'm not always right, but I am more often than not. It's why I used to think I was psychic, and I still have trouble reminding myself that other people won't immediately catch on to the little signs and signals I think I'm sending out as obvious announcements of my feelings. I attribute it to being a writer; it's the insight of a therapist with the hubris of assuming I'm right and then sharing it with the world. Think Dr. Phil and first-person journalism.

My dog and I were drinking water and smoothie respectively on the coffee shop patio when Neighbor Guy came walking past with his dog. Last time I saw NG he was drunk and depressed. Now he was clearly sober and depressed but kept insisting he was fine. I asked him what he was doing, he said nothing, so I scrapped my always-changable plans for the day and asked if he wanted to hang out. So we did.

Either I'm naturally drawn to depressed people or everybody on earth is actually depressed once you get to know them.

Apparently Possible Boy thinks I'm a possibly perfect Possible Girl, but he already had things getting started with Other Girl before he even met me (he was talking to Neighbor Guy about her the day we met) and he's never been in a real long-term relationship and doesn't want to do anything to mess up the possibility of Other Girl. I'm not getting any of this from any kind of frank discussion with Possible Boy, but between Saturday night as a bit of a third wheel and then asking Neighbor Guy like the big fat jerkface I am, I'm pretty sure this is the "true" story. What ever happened to the grand institution of Dating? I don't know Possible Boy well enough for him to feel like a great loss, but I'm sad to put the possibility on ice.

Yesterday, Neighbor Guy and I contemplated an upsidedown tomato garden on the ledge of a window down the street. A man walked out of a building and Neighbor Guy immediately engaged him in conversation, except in "conversation" NG was doing all the talking. As we started walking in the same direction, NG invited this new person to come hang out at the bar and I tried interjecting as much as I could to smooth a path between NG and propriety as he continued to point out where he lived down to his dog in the window. Our mostly dumbstruck companion managed to pointedly mention his girlfriend early on, shattering NG's dreams of settling down with an upsidedown tomato garden of their own, but that didn't stop NG from sighing as he mentioned his imagined love's eyes or checking by the bar repeatedly later in the day.

This sort of crush is quite foreign to me. I need some sort of words or personality bit to spark me. Neighbor Guy just needed blue eyes and thin lips (WTF? thin lips? what is wrong with you, NG?) That's part of my dilemma with Possible Boy. I know very little of him. I mostly like what I know, but it's so clearly just this tiny little surface sliver, I don't feel like I want to fight for him since it might turn out I don't like him after all and he'd be much better off with Other Girl. I just want a friggin' chance to get to know him to figure out just what kind of Possibility he is. Why are boys so frustrating? Why aren't these things nice and logical? Never mind. They would be totally sucky boring if they were logical. They just make me want to throw things the way they are.

car, migraine, yap yap yap

Still in a migraine stupor. I hate this. I was going to try out for Wheel of Fortune today, but there's no way I'm going anywhere loud and crowded or acting excited about anything.

However, thing that I am excited about, even if I'm incapable of expressing it at the moment: apparently, my parents are buying me a new (well, new to me) car! I love my old Camry and thought I'd drive it until the day it died, but they called to say they came across a really good deal on a 2003 Saab somethingorother and would I like it? I'm a bit sad to say goodbye to my Camry, since that's the car that went to Key West and back in a weekend, and it's been good to me, but I know with 130,000 miles and 12 years under its belt, it's getting ready to die. And I have a sense it's going to need new breaks again soon, too, since they're starting to sound/feel funny. So new car! That's like winning on Wheel of Fortune without ever playing the game. I still would have liked to play the game...

What the hell am I talking about? The weirdest part of a migraine is how drunk/stoned I feel, like thoughts don't stay in my brain for more than about two seconds, and normal emotional reactions just don't exist. Like, I know I'm excited about new car, but I'm not feeling properly excited about it. Like, this is big fat exciting! A Saab! I really like Saabs. But I'm too numb right now to really feel it. Almost in that depression way, but without the sadness or hopelessness...or even that feeling of numb. This is more the way I don't feel things in my third arm because I don't have a third arm. I am not missing a third arm, I just don't have one.

Yeesh. The logic of Full Blown Migraine Day 3 is very odd. It doesn't help I keep getting distracted by things in my peripheral vision that aren't really moving but randomly take my attention, anyway. I wanted to write about how weird it is that my parents now have all this money. Again, not that I'm complaining. If anything, it's perfect when in my life they went from getting by to comfortable to "want a new car?" Because I grew up not spoiled but not needy. When I got too big for my clothes, we could afford to go get new clothes, but I didn't get a whole new wardrobe every season or shop at boutiques and department stores. If I wanted a new toy, it went on my Hanukah or birthday list, and big-ticket items (a new bike or a boom-box) meant that was pretty much it from my parents for the holiday. Totally comfortable, totally reasonable. But I guess what my dad is/does is pretty unique and now he's all high on the corporate ladder and I get calls like "Do you want a new car?"

Think they can buy me a new brain?

I hope this makes sense.

Something smells funny and I can't tell if it's real or in my head or some combination.

Anybody (HDS, I'm looking at you) know a shit-ton about C. S. Lewis? I have a presentation on Thursday.

Blah blah blah blah. This is a clear case of "those who speak do not know," or at least "the less my brain is functioning, the more I write."

Please Pass the Barbiturates

Couldn't sleep last night until 5 AM, took 4 hours to do two loads of laundry this morning because some bitch took my we clothes out of the washer and proceeded to take up both dryers for three hours straight so I ended up two hours late for my improv class's final rehearsal before tomorrow's show. An hour and a half to try and find presents (or at least silly stand-in presents until I come up with something more quality) for my family, who will be doing Hannukah tomorrow night, walk the dog, and change for work. Not surprisingly, I was late to work as a result. Bah. But BL switched with me so that I worked the bar while she worked the concessions stand thing upstairs, partly because she'd been there all day and wanted to go home earlier, and partly as a thank-you to me for last week when I was the only person in town. Tonight was the opening of previews for the new main stage show, so the front of house manager bought her entire staff a round of drinks and the production head people bought the crew a round of drinks and the actors bought themselves many, many rounds of drinks and I didn't get out of there until 2 AM but I made $122 in tips. Thank you, BL!

Now I have to be at the improv performance space at 11 AM and I'm hungry and exhausted but still wired from bartending and caffeine and the impending show. And I need a break as I'm lousy at handling stress like this but I don't have a free night until December 26, so hopefully I'll make it until then.

$$$

Today I spent too much money on food. Brunch at Ann Sathers, "tea" at Bittersweet, and dinner ordering in pizza. Then I made $104 tonight (including an 83 minute call) and stopped feeling so guilty about my spending.

Citations: Part the Third

Wednesday night SUC and I got to the IO and my Fashion Police buddy had reserved us a table, making us feel all special as everybody said, "Oh, you're Annabell, right this way." We got towards the start of the second of the three Harold groups performing, and who was right there on stage but our Level A improv instructor who disappeared two weeks before the end of our session! And he was hilarious, particularly as he (a short, squat, balding, doofy looking middle-aged man) and this tall dancer-looking girl did a dainty ballet routine. TJ and Dave did what I thought was the best show I'd seen thus far. It was much more cohesive than their others and they introduced fewer characters, allowing them to really develop the two main ones. I tend to like Dave's more understated style while TJ is sillier, but in this show TJ captured all these brilliant subtleties, making the whole thing just beautiful. I know that sounds corny, but it was. Beautiful, I mean.

Thursday morning I went to take a shower. Hot water? What hot water? Just brown sputtering sludge. So gross. The cold was running clear, so I stuck head under the freezing faucet and just washed just what was necessary. So gross.
But there was sun! Clear skies and perfect temperatures at last! We walked through Millennium Park where the Chicago Symphony Orchestra was rehearsing. Something I miss from Interlochen is having a soundtrack playing everywhere. iPods don't count; the music isn't live and everyone isn't listening to the same thing.
A lot of the other girls only recently moved to Chicago and hadn't seen "the bean" before. We took a group photo in front of it and within moments we had tourists requesting pictures with us. I suppose 12 girls in fashion police uniforms is a bit of a spectacle. As we headed away from the park (apparently you need a permit to pass stuff out there, too) a couple from out of town stopped us to ask where they should go for a good Chicago-style hot dog. There was a clear split between those who stayed to offer suggestions and those who kept walking. Four of five of us all stood around discussing and debating where the closest and best Chicago hot dogs could be found while the rest couldn't be bothered with such things. Hold that thought, as I want to talk more about the general narcissism and entitlement later.

That night I had plans to go to Green Mill with Red and his woman and we were going to call Him and invite him, too, but I was completely exhausted. The shoes they gave us were cute flats that looked quite comfortable but they lacked any form of shock absorption or support, so my entire legs hurt like crazy. The hot water came back on and I took a long, wonderful shower and planned to spend the rest of the night watching TV in my underwear when NBF called. He was on his way to the El stop by me to meet with a friend from his law school class to "study" and thought I should come and hang out. Hell no. Too tired. But the bastard coaxed me out with the promise to buy me beer, and besides, it was much easier than Green Mill and the dog needed to go out so I'd have to give in and put on clothes anyway. I was cranky and shleppy, but had much fun anyway. His study-buddy and his study-buddy's fiance are quality, entertaining people. I ate too much and they accomplished exactly zero studying, but I was glad I went in the end. NBF's friends were driving NBF home, but first they following me to my apartment in the car with NBF yelling construction worker-esque come-ons in Spanish. Oy.

Friday morning before going in to work I bought insoles for my shoes. I wonder how much money I spent on and during this thing. Nowhere near the $600 I was making, but still significantly more than my normal spending averages.
The El was stopped due to a "maintenance problem" on one of the trains at one of the stops. Probably a jumper. Creepy. I wasn't worried about being late, though, since I knew a whole lot of my fellow promo people rode the same line and I got there early enough that it was likely to effect almost everyone. When we did make it to the stop by the hotel, a huge number of the fashion police poured out. No one cared.
The weather was nice again but we went back to the same area we'd spent most of the past three days. There was no race to get through the flyers since there weren't that many left, and we were all running low on steam. I mostly waited for people to stop and listen to whole shpeil, or I'd just smile and say "Marshall's Fashion Police" while handing them a flyer. My partner for the day was one of the good people, which was very nice as the promotion itself had lost its charm and reasons to keep smiling were getting hard to find. At my pre-break assigned corner (yes, that makes me sound like a whore) I found myself competing for passerby attention with a homeless man, a guy asking people to take a survey, and a swarm from some "Save the Children" organization. It wasn't long before I gave up and crossed the street where I didn't have to make fashion sound more important than starving babies in third-world countries.

Friday night was my current improv teacher's show. As I waited for the El at the stop by my house I hear from behind me, "Annabell?" I turned to see the guy I had barely noticed reading a book on the bench was an old friend of mine from high school I hadn't seen in like four years. Crazy. He looked exactly the same and is doing almost the same thing as the last time we saw eachother, only now he's working at a camera shop near my apartment. My life has been a bit more changed in the last few years. We exchanged numbers and talked until he had to change trains. He's one of the people I usually liked "back in the day," so I'm glad to know he's around now. I'll have to call him.

The show was reasonably funny, with highlights being the song "I'm gay and I have cancer" and the arranged marriage of North and South Korea. I like my improv class friends. Just in case you didn't notice.

Saturday was finally the last day! I got paired with a prime example of the entitled narcissism. We were supposed to be driving around with the fashion show to all the suburban Marshallses, but instead we went back on the Magnificent Mile. People sucked. There were tons of passerbys, but heaven forbid they make eye contact with us or acknowledge our existence in any way! We were going to get picked up around 2 and driven over to Wrigley Field before the Cubs game, but if we got rid of the last of the "citations" we didn't have to go. So fuck you, Sucky Mag Mile shoppers! We walked a few blocks down to Chicago and State where there were far fewer pedestrians but they were much happier to talk to us and take their "chance to win $1000." I handed out the last citation around 1:50 and headed back to the hotel with my partner to wait for our manager and the rest of our team.
The staffing agency's head of the promotion (who was very nice, though definitely One with the Peroxide) collected our things and sent us home! Yay! We were allowed to keep the shoes, which I did despite the pain and blisters, and I a little bit stole the hat. Hello, Halloween costume! I wasn't planning to go to my improv class at all, but I made it there by 2:40 when they were coming back from break. I was so glad to be there and I was "on" for once, despite/because of my being a bit crazy hyper.

So, now that it's all over, I have to say something about the other fashion police girls. Some were good, solid human beings that I liked very much. Most were not. They were used to having boys stare at them and do things for them. There was an overwhelming lack of real community or willingness to help anyone else. There was a point I was towards the back of the group going through a door, and I watched as not one girl held it for the next or even made sure it didn't slam her in the face. Everyone asked for things and no one offered things. I was the freak offering to share my bandaids, food, and assistance. The writer/improver and LA transplant also offered. I think that's what I liked about them. They didn't have "ME ME ME" tattooed to their foreheads, the expectation that other people (mostly boys) would do everything for them. And while I'll admit I kind of got off on the constant male attention and expected servitude of the other gender, I'd rather that stay a novelty and keep on doing things for myself and others.

Yes, that's me with my face swirled out in some sort of anonymity attempt. Now that I have a Halloween costume, I need to find a Halloween party. Hmm...