Angst, angst and more angst

I've found a new obsession -- "Supernatural." Over the past couple of months I have grown from just liking the show to being downright engrossed in it. I can't stop talking about. It's a great distraction from the stresses of life, love and the economy. The show is so well-written. Often times I'll start episodes thinking ok, this is going to be cheesy only to be surprised by some awesome, action-packed demon hunting turned well-played message. The dialogue is snappy too, very meta and cliche-aversive while every episode packs at least one good laugh. Of course since the show is on the CW it's also filled with teenage angst channeled through the body of 30-somethings playing 20-somethings. (Including, disturbingly, a younger brother who's supposed to be a year younger than me.) I find myself identifying all too well with said angst, whether channeled through cool-but-dead-inside Dean or alive-but-doomed Sam. Well, maybe more with Sam, the right-brained-in-touch-with-his-emoness thinker in the duo.

Either way, angst! The weight of the world on your shoulders. To be experienced as long, sullen, sideways glances during long car rides. Or copious amounts of bitchface exposition that seem to be angrily directed at the person in front of you but are actually more a reaction to the internal thought process. Being in one's head can be dangerous sometimes. I acted too mature during my teen years and now I seem to be reverting back to the emotional development I missed along the way.

My life is fine, pretty great in fact; this blog is the channel through which I can vent right now. Still -- and I'm sure every 20-something goes through this -- I'm dealing some hard to suppress feelings of personal disappointment. Specifically not attaining those probably-unrealistic-but-no-less-important dreams I dreamed out loud as a teen. The ones I am now too scared to speak for fear someone might hear them and laugh. And every time I think I've finally let them go they come back to haunt me. Maybe Dean and Sam could help me perform an exorcism??

Just this past weekend that haunting was in the form of Jenks, my bandmate from high school who was in town to visit some old mutual friends. I'm still in my hermit phase so I had no idea he was even here until the phone call came on Friday night. I haven't spoken to him in two years. Yet like all my friends no matter how long we are apart we can pick up right back where we left. Only thing was I don't think either of us really knew where that was (something about him burning our demos after some choice words from me as I recall) so instead we reached back a bit further.

Seemed like good old days at first as we met up at a dive bar in the village for one beer (me) and several (him). He greeted me warmly and called me fat (it's true right now, sadly) so I punched him in the gut and called him old and grimy (also true). We joked about the old days for awhile until I commented that this was like living Bruce Springsteen's ironically named "Glory Days" about 20 years too soon. Jenks agreed and we transitioned into a conversation about the past two years. Me: trying out but never making a great band, damaged pipes that are more leaky these days than brassy, working towards financial stability, struggling with letting go of the desire to be a musician. Him: forming a new band, touring for a year, breaking up, getting a real job, silently suffering. Yet neither of us is in bad shape. We both have steady jobs, nice places, good friends, etc. It's weird that our lives are just fine and yet so not what we wanted.

I guess it's a bit different for him since he's a few years older. He says it's too late now for him to start again. Such a liar but no amount of persuasion by me could sway him. Instead he spent most of the hours after midnight trying to convince me it's not too late to start a band, that I have one last chance before 30 (which by the way is still a couple of years away). It's not that I doubt him; I just doubt myself. Especially the time commitment. If I had the means to dedicate myself full-time to music I'm sure he's right. But if I had the means I might also be lazy and less driven about it. It's always been weird how I can make anything I want happen when I put my mind to it; yet I can't put my mind to the one thing I really want. There's always an excuse: I have to be focused on work (true); I have to be focused on my finances (true); I have no time (lie).

At work right now I have an amazing opportunity to grow in ways I'd always hoped for professionally. Musically I have zero opportunities and I'm further away then ever. In high school I knew A&R reps. In college I knew label reps. Now I know no one. And I would have to start over -- I was never very good at bass and I should probably learn guitar, plus I'd want singing lessons to gain my range and confidence back. I want to be strong and confident and just do it. But I am scared. I don't really even know about what.

So I churn with angst instead. Disappointment that I'd give up before I really begin. Jenks meant to give me a pep talk. I think he might have added a nail to the coffin instead. We parted well; I might go to Boston to visit him next month. But of course what did I do after we said goodbye? I went home and wrote lyrics to 3 damn good songs. Now I am searching for the confidence to finish them. Maybe I will postpone that exorcism request.

Grabbing my health by the horns

Last week's September 11 anniversary was bearable and for that I am thankful. I thought about it a lot in the morning, especially now that I live down in FiDi. The worst was hearing the parade of sirens go by -- that really got me. I stopped by the reflecting pool on the way to work to drop off a flower in D's honor. I still think of him every time I see a fire engine go by.

Otherwise the same three topics (music, money, health) are still swirling in my head. For this month health seems to have come to the forefront. Whatever this cough I have is I still have it and it sucks. It's now a dry, hacking loveliness that sometimes makes me gasp for air. It feels like I have something stuck in there. Back to the doc once blood tests come back, hopefully he can help me figure out what the hell this thing is.

In the meantime I started looking for a nutritionist. It's obvious I'm going to need some help getting myself in order so professional help can't hurt. Especially when covered by my work's actually kind of awesome health care. I found a recommended nutritionist right by my work. She even had after hours appointments which is a huge plus. Located in a fancy Soho dermatologist's office, the place was a bit intimidating but the doc herself was great.

I met with her for almost 2 hours. I was honest with her -- no sense in lying when my physical appearance belies -- about my diet and activity level. We went through my food and exercise routine. We talked about what kinds of foods I like and I don't like. We discussed attainable goals. She gave me some materials to read and helped me assemble about 20 different meals to try over the next 3 weeks. It actually got me kind of excited!

It's not like she didn't say things I already know. You have to burn more calories than you eat to lose weight. You have to exercise. Etc. Truth is I just need someone kicking my ass a little bit about it. I went to Whole Foods and bought $100 in groceries. I almost went into shock. I think I usually spend $25/week on groceries. Then I realized that all the crap I've been ordering in has been pushing me over $100 easily and then I didn't feel so bad. The hardest part is going to be giving up soda. I'm really not sure I can do it. But at least I've cut back to 1 can per day for now.

I already feel a bit better. I'm going back in 3 weeks for a follow-up visit. Hopefully there will be good news.

Finding a doctor in NYC: just as hard as it looks

I don't get sick very often anymore but when I do I am down for the count. Anything lung-affecting is the worst; I've suffered from decreased lung capacity since I was a kid. About 2 weeks ago I started coughing. I was so pissed because I know I got sick at the hospital. I was there for a consultation. I walked in healthy. I walked out sick. I knew it was pretty bad when I started waking up in the middle of the night to cough. Then came to lovely phlegm and waking up with a burning throat. There was no avoiding it: I needed to see a doctor.

Since college I've pretty much avoided the regular doctor. I've been good about the dentist and the lady doctor. But I'm young, spry and healthy. Plus health insurance is so friggin confusing. How much is my co-pay? What kind of doctors can I see? Etc. And forget asking friends for referrals -- all my friends are doctor-aversive like me. Cheating sickness by way of not seeing the doctor.

I had been going to a walk-in clinic so I tried there first. The doctors are mostly medical students doing their rotations and they're pretty nice. The doc I saw took a throat culture which came back negative, decided I didn't have the flu and recommended I take Sudafed and cough medicine. And that was it. I tried both, and while I slept (and snored, I'm sure) like a baby I woke up feeling worse and worse. After a few days I woke up one morning with what felt like blood in my throat. It was so nasty. So I went back and they gave me cough medicine with codeine. Which again helped me sleep but I wasn't getting better. I needed a real doctor.

I turned to my insurer's online physician finder. It was helpful in terms of proximity but less than helpful in terms of anything else. In a city like New York I feel like it's important to have a certified, friendly, highly-recommended doctor. And you'd think there'd be plenty of resources for finding just that doctor. But there's really not. New York Magazine publishes an annual list of Best Doctors but it's like those Who's Who books...you buy your way in. The few websites devoted to doctor ratings had little to no information about most of the doctors.

So it became a crapshoot. The first listing I tried was a nightmare. It turned out it was affiliated with Social Services, which made for all kinds of interesting characters at the office. There were also a bunch of unsavory characters. I was lucky enough to go on a day when they were having a recovering alcoholics group come through. It was the first time in New York I felt scared. I left before my appointment.

Third time's the charm so after failures with walk-in clinics and physician finders I called a friend of a friend who is a receptionist for a plastic surgeon in the city. She found a doctor right by my work. It was nuts. I called his cell phone, then he had me call his Brooklyn office to make an appointment. It's like some kind of secret code you have to follow. But he had after hours appointments so I didn't complain.

The next night I went to the office which was above an upscale retailer. I checked in and started filling out the forms. It was just me and a couple in the waiting area. By the third page I realized they were asking an awful lot about my sexual history. Then I started noticing the office decor. An African fertility statue. Literature about cord blood. Some ad for a pregnant New Yorkers network. Oh my god, I realized. I was at a family practice, not a general practitioner. I almost left but I was so miserable and just wanted to see some doctor, any friggin doctor.

Still it was kind of mortifying when the doctor called me back and the first words that spewed out of my mouth were "uh, I may have made a mistake, I'm not pregnant or anything, I just have a cough!" He just laughed an explained that he was an MD and that the other doctors in the office specialized in fertility and family medicine. Oh. Glad we got that out of the way! The second mortifying moment was when I had to weigh myself. I know I have packed on some pounds in the past month or so and I'm already taking steps to rectify the issue. Still, it was pretty devastating to see the scale land on the heaviest weight I've ever been in my life. Just by a few poinds, but still! I'm surprised I didn't lose a pound in carbon dioxide by how much that deflated me. Not the end of the world certainly but considering I've actually really picked up my exercise routine it's unnerving.

The doc turned out to be pretty cool though. He proscribed some Zithromax for the cough (hello again Zithromax...you and I met many times through Tonsilitis in college). Then he talked general health with me for a bit. My parents are both type II diabetics and lord I do not want to suffer the same fate. Doc told me to go get some blood work, hands me a form, recommends I hook up with a nutritionist, and wants to see me again in 2 weeks to follow up. It's just the beginning but this could be the beginning of a beautiful doctor-patient relationship. I think I found my NYC doc, and it only took 3 years.

Ancillary causes

Like most people, I spent most of college broke. For the first three years I spent any extra money I had on clothing. Not beer. Not food. Not drugs. Clothing. And it made me happy enough. (We've all got our vices.) I didn't really have discretionary income until senior year, which probably not coincidentally was the first year I gained weight in college.

Weighty issues aside I remember being so excited about my senior year. I was finally living in a cool apartment. I had a little bit of money to spare. I was getting ready to launch a fabulous career in journalism and/or the music industry (ba-dum-chick!). Every door seemed to be opening. My life seemed well in order.

So it was a shock what a disaster 2003-04 was. That year I also joined a sorority. It was something I'd wanted to do but didn't have the money for until 2003. But for some reason I got a major friend backlash about the whole thing -- they said it wasn't like me and that I changed. Maybe I did change, it's hard for me to say objectively even looking back now. I do remember feeling pretty lonely and commiserating that while one side of my life (the financials) seemed relatively in order, the other side (the social) had fallen into disarray. Much of my life felt out of control.

It helped spur me back East and eventually the move into NYC. That was a good thing. I had to make some difficult decisions. They say you're still forming who you are in your 20s and I re-examined my personality a bit. It felt weird doing it -- I literally evaluated my type of attitude and the way I reacted in situations. For a year or two I focused on consciously changing myself to be what I thought was more socially acceptable. While my social side slowly recovered to a semi-respectable state my financial side a-tumbled. Rent-poor became a term I got all too familiar with. Now an adult I had a serious conversation with myself that went something like, "Self, do you agree to become rent-poor if it means you're in a good neighborhood close to friends and happy?" "Yes, self, I agree." "Terrific, now stop talking to yourself, it's weird."

I think 2007 was probably the best year in terms of financial/social balance since college. In 2008 my financials started turning for the better and oddly enough, my social scale begin to tip downward once again. And now here I am in 2009 with the best pay I've ever made, rent-poor once again but loving where I live and yet goddammit I am fucking up the social stuff. In some ways it's worse because I feel like I am making the effort and yet the efforts are not yielding the results I want. I want to improve myself yet I'm not sure the concessions and changes I'm making are doing it. People must see through it? I'm not sure.

New York City is a tough, tough city to be social in when you don't know anyone. Even harder when you are still building yourself. At least that has been my experience. We are in so many ways a city of loners, a city where everyone is goal-oriented and driven towards their own personal goal. We often forget to step aside and see each other. I plead guilty on this as much as anyone. So if my failure comes from trying to please others and forgetting to please myself I don't mind taking a step back to become myself again. The issue is I've forgotten the right mix. I know small bits and pieces but the passive ingredient I introduced into my personality has overwritten some of harder pieces. It's an everyday battle to find the right balance. I am laughing as I write this because it sounds self-involved and silly. I must have missed this lesson when I was 4 -- how to make friends and influence people. Or maybe I just like crashing into walls. Repeatedly.

Poor T. He's crashing on my couch for 3 days in the middle of this existential breakdown. The guy just wanted to see the Financial District again for a few days. Ha, he had no idea what he was in for. He has suggested I make "Tubthumping" my personal anthem. It's a start.

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On a much lighter note, I made T watch "The Bachelorette" with me last nite. During the show I was telling him that I would totally do that show. Much to his chagrin. He came from the logical side saying that the people on the show were there for all the wrong reasons. I came from the modern romantic side saying it would be way easier to find one guy out of a group of 25. (Romantic, right?) Then came the previews for the rest of the season where we already see that poor Jillian finds out that some of the guys were just playing the game rather than actually trying to love her (!), that some were just fame manwhores (!!) and that some maybe left girlfriends back home (!!!).

I turned to T and said I would never, ever do the show. He patted me on the head. Lesson learned.