After spending the weekend on the verge of death, I am happy to say that I am back to normal (ie: completely and totally erratic and insane thought trains, longing for a night out, full of energy, etc.). I contracted a 24-hour stomach bug that was unlike anything I have every experienced before in my life... it was (dare I say) worse than the infamous 2012 episode of gastritis that left me hooked up to a double IV and narcotic drip. I was about to call 911 at a couple different points in the night, because I was sure if I fell asleep I wouldn't wake up again (yes... I am THAT dramatic). No, but honestly- I NEVER throw up, unless I am drunk/hung-over. I threw up 10 times in the course of one night. It all began at Highline- I started my shift like any other, with a cup of tea and begrudging the fact that my partner in crime (aka, the girl I hostess with) was no longer going to be a saturday-night staple in my life. All was going fine and dandy when I began to feel extreme nausea. I threw up not once, but twice, in the filthy public toilet at HLB, before I went home early.
It wasn't over yet though. I took a cab home, and began to feel waves of nausea again as I entered Williamsburg and had to have the cabby pull over, not once, but twice, so I could embarassingly vomit out the side of the door while a line of cars behind me watched on. I cried not only out of the agonizing stomach pains I felt, but out of shame. Never, in even my drunkest, sloppiest state, have I had to ask a cab driver to pull aside so I could vomit. I barely made it in my apartment before collapsing on the couch... and that's when the real fun began. There was nothing left to vomit at that point, so I was throwing up stomach bile. It was disgusting and so utterly painful I wanted to die. My entire body was heaving and every muscle tensed each time it happened... on top of that, I had a fever so hot that I felt delusional and thought my brain was melting. Thankfully my bf took care of me and my sister brought me some saltine and gatorade the next day when I was laid up on my couch all day. I never take naps, EVER- but I slept 18 out of the next 24 hours. My poor body felt like it had been beaten with a baseball bat from the wretching, and I was too weak to even get off the couch.... thankfully I was so dehydrated I didn't even need to use the facilities.
I spent all day Sunday asleep and later that evening decided to enjoy a nice, little movie about an adorable Akita dog staring Richard Gere. Please note- one should never watch the movie "Hachi" when they are near death and emotionally drained. I balled my eyes out for a good hour after Hachi's owner died and he faithfully waited in rain and shine and snow by the train station for his return....the movie was utterly devestating. By Monday, I felt ok again, minus the fact that my stomach still felt like it was ripped in two. It is now Tuesday and I think I am 100% better, and 5 lbs thinner (hey, at least one positive thing came from this bug ;) ).
After a few days away from Hollister, I returned to work for the much dreaded 8am Tuesday management meeting. As I climbed onto the filthy, loathsome L-train at the ass-crack of dawn, I had an epiphany looking at the tired, sad, and depressed faces around me... I never want to be one of them. I'm sure there are people working 8-5, mon-friday jobs that love what they do. Once upon a time (not that far removed), I myself craved the comfort and security that I thought one of these 8-5 jobs would provide me... but now that I have a consistent schedule that I no longer create, and now that I no longer dictate what days I will and won't work, I see that being in a daily grind is not that fun. Am I thankful that I have a job that allows me to pay my rent? YES. Am I thankful I have a job with decent benefits? YESSSSS. However, this job is completely unsatisfying creatively, and the daily grind is wearing me out emotionally. I need something that stimulates me- a job I look forward to going to. I remember at this time last year when I was still serving at Highline and working for free doing costumes and props for Wakka Wakka, I felt so much better about life, despite the fact that I was poor as fuck and wondering how I was going to eat. I felt creatively and artistically fulfilled as I sat in that rehearsal room sewing costumes for puppets and making miniature beds and sheep. I felt creatively enlightened listening to awesome music for free every night at Highline, even if my tips sucked mega d*ck most nights and I felt degraded every time I had to carry a tray of h'ors d'ouvres dressed as a little boy in my black button up and flats. Why is it that back then, all I could focus on was finding a job with more income and benefits? Why is it that back then, I thought I would be happier to have a job with a 'regular' schedule, and 'regular' hours? I'll tell you why...
BECAUSE THE GRASS IS ALWAYS F*CKING GREENER ON THE OTHER SIDE
Well, now that I look back on those days that I wondered how I was going to ration out a box of pasta for three days, not only was it much easier to stay thin (jk, jk... but not really), but at times, I felt like I was doing more living than I was working. It was nice to have my entire day free until 5 or 6pm and then work until midnight. It was nice to be able to spend time with my sister and niece and go to the park for a few hours, or take a long walk to Greenpoint, or go to Ikea on a Tuesday afternoon. It was nice to send a quick email a week in advance and say "Please note, I will be unable to work next Wednesday-Saturday, as I am going home, thank you!" and never have it be an issue to take time off or request a day that I just didn't want to work. It was nice to give a shift away when I felt like going out with my friends or boyfriend was more important on a summer evening. I just have to keep reminding myself, as everyone else keeps reminding me also, that my current job is a stepping stone... and again, I must keep stressing to myself that I am LUCKY to have a job with benefits (even if I want to scream and cry before work most days). I am lucky that I have a job to pay my bills, so that I can look for a better opportunity in the mean time without worrying about how I will pay rent or my student loans. And lastly, I have to remind myself of how depressing and degrading it was on those months where I made shitty money in tips due to three dark-days in a row at HLB, or awful nights with a crowd of 70 people, and thusly had to call home to ask my parents for help (that is the worst).
Surely, there must be some kind of middle ground here... where the grass is perfectly green and I have no desire to jump a fence and then end up looking back longingly upon the yard from whence I just jumped.
Oh well... I am lucky I live where I live, and that I pay what I pay for my awesome little apartment. I am lucky to have friends and family who continually put up with my antics and still accept me for who I am. I am also lucky to have people who take care of me when I am sick and still want to hang out with me after watching me vomit into a garbage can in my underwear. lol. I recently re-arranged my apartment and am in the process of getting a new, pimped out sound system thanks to my bf. I will post some pics of my new apartment in the next blog.... I would take some now, but I have a sink full of dishes that I simply cannot focus on (ADHD.... maybe I need some adderall.....). God... I haven't posted any narcissistic selfies in a while either... ;) I think that may be needed too....
