Decisions, Stress

I leave for Santa Barbara tomorrow morning.
There are things I wanted to do before I left.
I cannot do all of them.
I absolutely have to go to the DMV and renew my drivers license, which apparently expired on my birthday.
I absolutely have to pack.
I absolutely have to shower.

Just shy of absolutely, I have to photograph as many items as possible and upload them to my computer. Every time I go to take photos of something, I want to scream. Even the things I thought would be super-quick shots need to be cleaned or don't sit straight or something else killing the super-easy. And now that I know how to find all  kinds of  information on any given item, I feel much more obligated to keep digging until I have at least the manufacturer and time period. So no more instant gratification, and I've spent the last two weeks pushing pushing pushing without taking a breath, stoking my anxiety fire.

Not absolutely but I really wanted to, I was going to go to a movie with Possible Boy this afternoon. I haven't hung out with him or Aural Girl in ages and his school year is over now so he's a bundle of free time. Last night, "everyone" was at the bar watching the Blackhawks win the Stanley Cup, but HDS was cooking really fabulous dinner and she's still far from ready to plunge into the bar, no matter how tame it is. By the time dinner was over, so was the game and I was back to stressing.
But somewhere in the "watching the game at the bar" was an invitation to today's movie watching, and in my last night thinking, going to a movie today would be an excellent break from the crazy, a reunion with the last time I blinked and a person I'd like to see.

Now it's already after 2 PM and my body is begging to lay down again. I don't want to cancel movie time. I don't want  to feel like I've let someone down or messed up his plans for the day. I already blew off Neighbor Guy who called with boy troubles and really wanted to hang out and talk, my mother when she called with one of her non-reasons, and my dog by cutting his morning walk to bad-weather length. I know I have to call Possible Boy and say no movie. I know writing this instead of using these minutes on one of the  time-requesting entities is extremely narcissistic, but I have to consider this a case of  putting on my own oxygen mask first before assisting others.

See? Starting to breathe better already.

Be A Part Of It

Next Sunday I'm flying to New York. Possible Boy will have already driven Aural Girl and her dog to her parents' house and experienced a big bustling family Christmas. Birdie and NBF are both in New York. So are lots of other swell people I know. And I like visiting New York. I used to want to live there, but now it feels too crowded, too nonstop, too type-A to make it my permanent residence. The Annabell who wanted to live in New York had no children, a string of not-so-seriuos boyfriends, lived in an apartment the size of a closet, wrote for a major publication, and wore spiky heals and feather boas right through menopause.
I'm not that Annabell anymore. The spiky heals and feather boas perhaps, but current Annabell craves something concrete, grounded, stable to hold onto.
Speaking of which, I need to clean up again. The Mess is back on all available surfaces. I'm finishing projects. trying to see things to absolute completion. Right now, my life is the sum of my projects. Everything is a project. Photograph things, list things online, mail things, fix this chandelier, fix and clean up those shoes, find a way to wash the lace, photograph the things that are now fixed and clean, do online promotion things, go to stores and try to sell them things, make cards, make envelopes, buy more things to sell, buy basic life necessities, make food, eat food, tidy things, clean things, call to straighten out a doctor billing issue (because at any given moment in my life, there's always at least one), pay the bills, balance the checkbook, turn a ceramic nativity into a menorah, etc. etc. etc.
My life is juggling bubbles, and since I'm the juggler, I have a huge amount of influence and control, but since I'm not a very good juggler, I get frazzled and punch myself instead of catching any bubbles.

Last night Aural Girl brought over a bottle of wine and we got silly and went to the bar. I had on a sweater dress I'd gotten from my parents for Chanukah and she was trying out her new stretch belt with satiny shirt thing and jeans. I didn't think my outfit was anything particularly special, but one of the bar regulars who has repeatedly made it clear he wants to do me (and I've repeatedly made it clear I have zero interest) thought this dress was the hottest thing ever and kept telling me so. As I flitted about the bar, talking to a few of the people I like talking to, Aural Girl stayed glued to her seat. When I noticed she hadn't moved and wasn't talking to anyone, I made my way back to her corner.
If I had my entire life on film, internal monologue included, I could find all the scenes where I was in AG's place. As we talked, I recognized that feeling and space in the universe: feeling inferior, jealous in a way that you don't wish the other person had less but just wished you could do or be what they do or are. I want so badly for AG to see that she is every bit as shiny as I am, that it's her turn to be the Pretty One, too. We're both so used to being The Smart One or The Friend. She's actually done far better than I have pulling relationships out of nerd status. I tried to remind her that for all the random boys who like me when I'm smiling, the one I was interested in wanted her. But I of all people should know, when you don't think you're pretty, you just don't believe the people who say otherwise.

Dog is warm. Night is late. Tummy is hungry again.
Until next time

Miami International Airport

I went to my cousin's wedding in Miami. The plane in which I was originally scheduled to fly home arrived at the gate as a 737 instead of the planned 757. They offered $300 in travel vouchers and a guaranteed seat on the 8:15 PM flight to anyone willing to trade in a boarding pass.

I was at the podium before they could finish making the announcement.

It's not like I had anywhere to be, and many of my best friends live in far away places. $300 of airline travel for four and a half hours of hanging out in the Miami airport is far better than my usual pay rate.

The rest of my family opted to stay on their original flight. They all worried about working Monday morning and general life obligations and hassle and whatnot. The other wedding guests, too, refused a $67/hour waiting incentive and boarded for Chicago.

I had the two most recent issues of the New Yorker, the Sunday New York Times, and a cell phone with two virtual pets, a virtual farm, a virtual pyramid, and a virtual mine, plus the will and ability to nap in strange places and positions.

Instead, there was The Columbian.

...Romans, Countrymen

NBF has returned from London. I'm at his apartment and he is asleep, sprawled out with his dog. It's pretty cute. He's entitled, as it is 6 AM in his head. I'm glad he's back (though he's not), but I do hope I continue being social with people who aren't him. I'm just socially lazy. It's bad, because I enjoy it when I get out there and see people and make friends, but if I can get my human contact without actually bothering to extend myself, I do.

Last weekend, I went to Mr. Mustache*'s parents' house in Pennsylvania. Birdy and Kaufman* were there and it was awesomely amazing. I love them all nine times. And since they all mostly knew me during one of my bigger, badder, Dark Icky Depressions, it was really nice being able to see them with my head out of the pit. Once I'm done with this whole college thing, I need to find a job out in NYC or at least somewhere on the east coast.

My latest introspection and extro-spection: I have an uncanny ability to be completely and utterly adored by boys without them feeling any romantic attraction at all. I love having my boy_friends, but it would be nice if one occasionally had interest in me as a Girl. I do not understand it at all. Do I lack pheromones? That can't be it, since I have been known to attract Boypeople who don't know me that well. Perhaps my Innermost-Being is lovable but not attractive. Like an adored pet or family member. I don't know. Do you?


*Don't like your code names? Too bad. Unless you suggest something better.