New Home

Last night was spent waiting, breathing pesticide, sweating, lifting, and feeling anxious.
I certainly am learning how self sufficient I can be. Unfortunately, I am not impressing myself at all.
I still need help. I still can't lift the heaviest box. I still feel insecure by myself.
I am half moved into my new room.
I got welcomed to the neighborhood by a teenage drug dealer who told me that "my people" were on the North side, and that a lot of "business" would be happening on the block but not to worry about it. great.
I am so anxious about moving into this new space. I mean, I don't know my roommates at all. I hope we get along. I hope they like me. Especially the new neurotic clean freak me. I hope I like them, more importantly.
All I want to do is vacuum. And spray things with alcohol. I am afraid to unpack. Will I just have to pack again? I am so weary of it.
I want to feel comfortable. Have a space that feels like mine. A sanctuary to be alone, but content. I hope this will be it.

And in the near background there is the largest issue of all. Pushed aside for the last week or so. But scratching and clawing to come back to the forefront of my anxiety. We are too comfortable again. Comfortable enough to bicker. To kiss goodbye. To depend on each others presence. I know there will be fallout. But maybe we can push it aside for a little while longer.

Fucking Bed Bugs

Just when I think things are falling into place. Right when I let my guard down for half a day. Right when I begin to see a light in the far off distance. BAM!!! It's snuffed out.

So I figured out what my "hives" are. Fucking bed bug bites! The whole bed frame was infested. I saw them! They crawled on my at night and sucked my blood! Bit my face, my neck, my legs my arms. Even my toe!

This has been the most hellish weekend in recent memory. And that is saying a lot.
We upturned the entire apartment. Every single thing. Examined, sprayed with alcohol. We vacuum and vacuum and vacuum. We throw so much in the garbage. Put warnings on it, that it's contaminated. People take it anyway! Frightening.
I washed every article of clothing I own. Everything washable. I threw so much away. Ruined so many sweaters. If it couldn't take the heat, it went in the trash. I have no choice. They are nearly invincible.

But I think we can win. Even though this is her third time with them. But yet I think I will get the blame. I can feel it. I'm afraid. I'm more afraid of her than them sometimes. She is going to break down. And I won't be able to forgive. Words cut me like a knife, and rarely completely heal.
But I'm speculating. I hope I'm wrong. We are strong. We are getting stronger. If we remain a team.

Never slam white wine from the bottle at 2am

Today I endured the most intense hangover of my entire life.

I woke up on a rooftop in Bed-Stuy covered in dirt and blood.
Jessi was snuggled up behind me.

I couldn't keep food down until 7pm today.

I do know I have met some good hearted people in this big bad city. Thank goodness.

obstreperous.

This is what I am, obstreperous.

It is advisable to run from an obstreperous person and not look back.
It stems from having a poor self perception. It is very difficult to get over being obstreperous. You have to change your entire personality in a lot of ways.
I'm not sure that I can.
So will I constantly make people run? They should I guess. It's advisable.

How do I get a good self perception then? Hum. You can't get it from a place. Or another person. You can't run to it, or from it. What if I don't have the capacity?
I am missing "good self perception" DNA. It got replaced with obstreperous DNA. Or maybe it's chemicals. Will a pill fix it? Electroshock? Lobotomy? Or is it hopeless?

It sure does make me sad.

Best Compliment I've gotten in a long time

Just separating the chaff librarians from the wheat librarians. You are clearly a wheat librarian.


-leo

There isn't much that makes me feel more insecure than having nothing to do on Saturday night. Stupid yes, but true.
I could deal back in the midwest, but for some reason in New York it feels really terrible.
Why can't I handle being by myself?

Why am I really here? In New York. Can I be happy here, just me? It sure doesn't feel like it. I'm tired of missing so many people.
There isn't enough making me happy to compensate. Actually I feel like New York is trying to break me, get me out. Saying I don't belong, that I'm not tough enough. I tend to agree.
A few times a day, I love New York. But perhaps more times a day I really hate it.
For instance:

Love

All the Puerto Rican kids flirting and dancing for Puerto Rican day
The old drunk Polish man who I thought was going to be sketch, actually be very sweet, just wanting "to rest for a minute by a pretty girl"
My lunch menu written all in Polish
Seeing the hula hoop boy on the L train
Never minding how far I have to walk

Hate

Having no sense of community
Looking at another tiny claustrophobic room that still costs more that I ever thought I would pay in rent
Cockroaches EVERYWHERE
The smell of the Canal St. subway station
The great disconnect bewteen people, even though they are constantly being smashed together
Sense of constantly competing for everything


Is it just me, like he said? I need to be happy with myself in order to be happy anywhere? But how do I get there?

Gardens

I am thoroughly convinced that I have no idea what I want anymore.

Although, red wine and burgers on the grill are on the list for sure.

Karaoke

I guess there are a few things that can cheer me up.

A kiss from Michi.
Getting a sunburn.
Boatrides.
The VonHering family rendition of I Love NYC with inflatable guitars!
Having Andy leave me a silk rose because he couldn't be at karaoke.
Dancing to the Dropkick Murphy's with my mom.
My brother and sister singing Shaggy.
Running into the lake at bar time when I'm covered in sweat from dancing so hard.
Michi in general.

My karma?

Ok
I just have to write this all down before I forget. Not that I could.
All I wanted to do was get out of New York. Go where I'm loved unconditionally. Relax.
No such luck.
First, I get on the downtown F train. Why? Who knows?
Get off the train at Delancy, frantic, panicked. Try to hail a cab. One out of 5 stopped. He said he won't go to LaGuardia! I panic, get back on the train. Get to Queens. The bus is so full, I have 1 hour and 15 min. Before my plane takes off.
It is sweltering. Sweat is running down my stomach, down my back.
Finally the airport, long lines, no one will help or even give me a smile. I sprint to the gate. The sign flips, flight is delayed. Then the storm hits. Lightening strikes on the runway. No flights can leave for two hours. I won't make my connection. But the women warns me, "stay on the flight, stay in the the Minneapolis airport. We will be backed up the rest of the weekend". Finally we board, two hours on the runway. 40 planes in front of us. Then 2 and a half in the air. My stomach grumbles. I feel like my head is filled with sand.
Thank goodness for Brian, his car, his couch.
A beautiful morning walk through Minneapolis. A coffee, a chat.
Finally, I get to Madison. 12 hours late.
Joe, saves the day. I love my friends. I am so lucky to know people like them.
Of course my luggage is lost. No trace. They will deliver it. But when?
A nice drive and a lunch with Joe.
I made it. I'm home.

I hope I made up for something.

No one will ever stop me from writing.

I should have known...

Someone who can make you feel the that good
Can also be the cruelest person you've ever known

And then there is regret. Should I? Or shouldn't I? I've learned. I've suffered. I've grown. Is that something to regret?

I may have been eaten alive, but it wasn't by New York City. It was by myself. Now my slate is clean. I want to keep it clean forever. It's stained, but clean.

From now on, only the truth. More self confidence. Let them take it or leave it. I can bend, but I won't change. If I love me, that's what matters the most.
That is the person I'll wake up with every morning for the rest of my life.

re-run

Well
I've always been one to learn the hard way.
And yet there is no surprise.

And I won't wonder. I can't imagine it was worth it, but at least I know.

I also learned never to trust a boy who is constantly trying to convince you he is man.

I know what a real man is.

I think a pen is required for real story.
Something harder to delete.