2005-04-08 - 6:40 p.m.

Yesterday I hit the lowest of all my accumulated lows. I am sure of that. I cannot remember a time when I was so utterly low.

I’ve, of course, been in a funk for the past week. That deep part of my mind that has grown accustomed to getting into a week long funk when boy leaves will not, no matter what I tell it, remember that boy and I no longer have those two months separations to deal with. And, of course, I am in a funk because my days here are literally numbered. And as happy as I know I will be in just a couple months…I am devastated to be leaving. As much as I hate this place and have hated my life of late in this place…I am also leaving some pretty significant things behind which I will never have time to go into…but, to sum it all up, my ten years in this house have shaped my entire being. I have learned many things in this place. I have crawled out from a lot of hurt and all around low-ness while being in this house. So it makes me sad. And…also, I am contending with the overwhelming worry of sending my cats to Spain. Not to mention, these last weeks of hurried finishing up and figuring out. I’ve had to stop myself from freaking out about the things I won’t be able to get in Spain (or have told myself that I might not be able to get in Spain) and have ceased the chaotic list making and frantic shopping trips buying such items as no metal rubber bands and fine grained glitter.

So yeah…I’ve been in a funk. In a panicked, sad funk.

So yesterday when Eric called and said my ticket for my move had been reserved I felt at once terribly sick to my stomach. It got worse when he told me that said flight was on Delta and that there was a connection at JFK. I had thought previously that my fear of flying had drastically abated…but what I realized when Eric told me that I would be flying an airline I am virgin to and having to navigate through an equally unknown airport, I freaked out. Totally. I realize now that my fear of flying HAS NOT abated…I have simply gotten very used to Northwest flight 50 something with a connection in Amsterdam and more than that…my mind instantly said…”YOU CANNOT FLY ON AN AIRPLANE THAT IS NOT THE AIRBUS A330! YOU DON’T KNOW THE SOUNDS OF OTHER AIRPLANES!” I realize that part of my decreased anxiety about flying is that all I have to concentrate on when flying the airbus are the pale moments when we hit turbulence or the fasten seatbelt sign comes on for no apparent reason. I realize that I no longer keep my ears keened to the sound of the plane because I know then as well as I know the correct sounds my house makes. It also makes it easier because I have that plane memorized, completely. I don’t have to fuss about with anything. I am accustomed to it and it makes flying much easier for me. So anyway…after I freaked out and demanded that he change the ticket (and then started freaking out that perhaps I was fated to NOT fly the Airbus because that one was the one that would crash and maybe I should just keep the Delta flight after all) I finished my work quickly so I could get home and relax. And then raw sewage started spouting out of the drains at work again. It’s so fucking DISGUSTING when it does that. We were all holding our breath and trying to get the hell out of there, avoiding surging black pools of chunky, sludgy mess. So I managed to get out of there, but not before I dropped a coffee pot in the sink and splashed up syrup water (I had just cleaning out the syrup dispenser) all over my shirt and in my hair.

So I am a mess, I am stressed, I am freaked out and sure that my airplane death is coming sooner than I had thought it would and I drive home in my stupid stressful car and I immediately, when walking in the door, open a bottle of wine. Then I talk to Eric who is no longer agitated with my freak out and has changed everything and is happy to have changed everything anyway because it works out for him and he didn’t really want to fly Delta anyway either…so we talk and by four I am getting a little drunk. Then we get off the phone sometime around five and I call my grandparents, both sets of them, to arrange dinners and this and that before I leave and then I turn on the TV to watch Seinfeld and…I fall asleep, completely drunk, having not eaten anything all day…in my dirty, smoky, sewage and syrup covered clothes from work. Passed out. Totally. Woke at nine, took a bath and went to bed. It was disgusting. I have never done something like that before.

So today I am faring a bit better. I went to the gym, sat in the sun and read. I ate something and I am glaring at the remains of that bottle of wine, my stomach a little sick from it. I am coming to terms with this move and while I am emphatic at this point that I DO NOT WANT TO GO…I know that I have to go at this point and I also know that in a couple months I will be unbelievably glad that I went. I know that I NEED to be with that boy, and I also know that I NEED to start over. I need to get out of this life here and get a blank page to start from because I have let things get out of control here and I don’ think I could ever rectify my life if I stay here. I’m needing some down time. I was not made for this kind of crazy life. I am silence. I am rest. I am dreaming. I am NOT this chaos, planning, arranging, vivid wide eyed black circle of exhaustion.

I am going to try really hard to never ever ever pass out again at 6 in the evening while covered in sewer water and syrup.


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