Things fall apart
Why is it that when my life is going most smoothly, I feel like everything is about to spin off into outer space, like an unfortunate kid with a weak grip getting flung from a playground merry-go-round?
I am in a play that is low-stress and fun and the director loves me. I have a wonderful relationship with a kind, good man (the former Sweet Boy Thursday, now my Sweet Boy Everyday). Said kind, good man and I are moving in to a great apartment in July that is hundreds of dollars cheaper than my (terribly cute!) studio apartment and much larger. I auditioned for a possibly incredibly lucrative radio gig and have the inside scoop that I am the auditor's first choice. I am putting up a sketch show that is practically guaranteed to make money. The weather is beautiful and Chicago is starting to look bearable again.
So. Why do I feel like I'm slowly shaking myself to pieces?
I blame everything on being tired, really. And I blame my tiredness, as per usual, on leukemia or anemia or multiple sclerosis or a bifida or something. Still, it's not a conclusive answer.
Perhaps I was born to doubt. When I was younger, I was a fucking Pollyanna, though, and believed everything I was told. Thank god I had no access to the family finances because I would have purchased everything I had ever seen a commercial for. "But MOM! You NEED this toilet bowl cleaner! It's new and improved and will cut your scrubbing time down by 50%! It lasts ONE THOUSAND FLUSHES! ONE THOUSAND!" As it is, I am still heavily influenced by the folks on Madison Avenue...I do, after all, have a Swiffer Wet Jet and utilize those use-n-flush toilet brushes.
Somewhere along the line, though, some latent gene clicked over and I became a Negative Nellie. The phrase "What's the catch?" is on the tip of my sarcastic tongue every time something good happens to me. I'm starting to think like my mother in that every tiny bump in the road of life is a conspiracy, formulated by unknown enemies who are even now posing as my friends. A few weeks ago, I got a notice of a certified letter in my mailbox and my first thought was "Oh great. Someone's suing me." Then, I thought, "No, if someone's suing me, they'd send a marshall to deliver the court papers. Nope. I must just be getting evicted." It turned out to be a letter from my building's management company, acknowledging the fact that I had decided not to renew the lease on my (terribly cute!) apartment. Perfectly inocuous, but I drove myself nearly insane with worry.
I think New York did this to me. I think the constant beating of the city was enough to drive a stake through the heart of Optimistic Amy. My divorce couldn't do it, my stupid ex-husband couldn't do it, my crappy finances couldn't do it, but a sprawling, crowded, overpriced rabbit warren of 8 million people could.
So, it seems that things are looking up in my life. But I wouldn't count on it.
I am in a play that is low-stress and fun and the director loves me. I have a wonderful relationship with a kind, good man (the former Sweet Boy Thursday, now my Sweet Boy Everyday). Said kind, good man and I are moving in to a great apartment in July that is hundreds of dollars cheaper than my (terribly cute!) studio apartment and much larger. I auditioned for a possibly incredibly lucrative radio gig and have the inside scoop that I am the auditor's first choice. I am putting up a sketch show that is practically guaranteed to make money. The weather is beautiful and Chicago is starting to look bearable again.
So. Why do I feel like I'm slowly shaking myself to pieces?
I blame everything on being tired, really. And I blame my tiredness, as per usual, on leukemia or anemia or multiple sclerosis or a bifida or something. Still, it's not a conclusive answer.
Perhaps I was born to doubt. When I was younger, I was a fucking Pollyanna, though, and believed everything I was told. Thank god I had no access to the family finances because I would have purchased everything I had ever seen a commercial for. "But MOM! You NEED this toilet bowl cleaner! It's new and improved and will cut your scrubbing time down by 50%! It lasts ONE THOUSAND FLUSHES! ONE THOUSAND!" As it is, I am still heavily influenced by the folks on Madison Avenue...I do, after all, have a Swiffer Wet Jet and utilize those use-n-flush toilet brushes.
Somewhere along the line, though, some latent gene clicked over and I became a Negative Nellie. The phrase "What's the catch?" is on the tip of my sarcastic tongue every time something good happens to me. I'm starting to think like my mother in that every tiny bump in the road of life is a conspiracy, formulated by unknown enemies who are even now posing as my friends. A few weeks ago, I got a notice of a certified letter in my mailbox and my first thought was "Oh great. Someone's suing me." Then, I thought, "No, if someone's suing me, they'd send a marshall to deliver the court papers. Nope. I must just be getting evicted." It turned out to be a letter from my building's management company, acknowledging the fact that I had decided not to renew the lease on my (terribly cute!) apartment. Perfectly inocuous, but I drove myself nearly insane with worry.
I think New York did this to me. I think the constant beating of the city was enough to drive a stake through the heart of Optimistic Amy. My divorce couldn't do it, my stupid ex-husband couldn't do it, my crappy finances couldn't do it, but a sprawling, crowded, overpriced rabbit warren of 8 million people could.
So, it seems that things are looking up in my life. But I wouldn't count on it.
posted by Unknown at 6:44 PM
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