Some scenes from last week. And a little to say.
We still have little to show aside from bathroom renovation progress—I mean, I got this mirror awhile back and we haven’t even hung it yet, so—but I figured I’d pop by anyway and tilt the scales a little. But not about anything I want to tilt the scales about, really—duh. The double-edged sword of having a blog: you’d love it to be read, just not by the people who are probably reading it. (Hi, work people!)
Above, the Tuesday after Memorial Day, I’m saying peace out to my bedroom after a long weekend. Actually, I’m saying peace out to the weekend. But if we’re really splitting hairs, I’m saying peace out to how it feels to wake up in the morning without anxiety nipping at your heels. I know, we all know I struggle with anxiety. But, I saw this super emo Vice article the other day that said “What you call depression, I call truth,” so lemme just footnote this with “What you call anxiety, I call caring,” and we’ll call IT ALL a day. I’d rather be chased by rabid dogs through the alleys of Budapest with piranha earrings on than pretend to not pay attention while someone is reading my work on a board. So, yea. See ya, weekend.
Up next: a Saturday evening out on the town for a little Mom’s Siam, pre-show Stiegl at Portrait House, then a flick at the Byrd Theater. We peeped It Follows and I fell for it. Gorgeous, if you haven’t seen it.
Dat malt bevvie, doe.
Below, the following day, is this guy who’s been blowing through nail gun cartridges and screaming table saws for 10 hours at a time like HE’S the one wearing piranha earrings. This bathroom, guys. It’s the one of the most expensive things I’ve ever unwittingly committed to, and probably the most surprise-proud I’ve ever been. Before, it was a veritable torture chamber of black and white rotted tile and shitty mistakes, and we put our little visions together and took turns making these seamless decisions and I kind of stand in the doorway and want to carve MFEO in the floor before the new boards go down. Nobody rolls as smooth as we do.
And then, above, winding down after something not as cool happened. Aside from the beer, which was cool as hell.
Basically, I had one of my first, real, honest-to-goodness meltdowns and I’m still so horrified at my (beyond my control) behavior. But, I’m trying to just come to terms with it and move on.
We went to the hospital to meet some friends’ new baby—done this sort of thing before, you know, so you’d think I’d just roll with it—but about 45 seconds in, standing in this waiting room talking to a family member I didn’t know, I slipped out of the practiced version of myself. I was listening—something about dilation and the time of night—and fidgeting with my purse strap, nodding, when I felt the urge to cry knocking from behind my breastplate. When it dawned on me that I could feign having to use the restroom, I almost became a religious woman I was so relieved. So I interrupted, asked where the bathroom was, then shuffled my 34-years-old, wearing tiny cutoffs to a hospital, compartmentalized, no kids of my own just doing my thang, confused, and totally panicked ass to the farthest reaches of the floor.
And I sobbed. I gasped. I called my mom. And when it became obvious I couldn’t be gone anymore without someone wondering what was going on, I went back, with a red face and red eyes, gripping a little wet tissue. Which is still in my purse, three weeks later.
I’d venture a guess and say that’s what they call a “violent reaction” but it defies all logic so, like I said, moving on.
So, a little good, a little weird. I’d say all in all May was pretty cool. Like a fine pilsner beer.
-C.
[Deets for the cheap seats: top and bottom photos, Free People Trapeze slip in black and tea; middle photo: Rails buffalo plaid shirt.]
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