GINGER

A friend of mine wrote on another friend’s facebook wall, “I hope you had a relaxing and enjoyable day,” for their birthday. Are we that old and awful that instead of saying, “I hope you rocked the shit out of your day,” we’re hoping it’s RELAXING? She’s younger than I am! I realize this is coming from someone who deliberately hermited away her entire Thanksgiving break, but a relaxing birthday sounds old and depressing.

As always, I’m not going home for Thanksgiving this year. For the past couple of years, I’ve either hosted a feast at my house, or gone over to friends’ houses whose parents were in town. Which have all been really fun! But this year Maureen and Mindy are out of town, Christina and Christoph don’t live in NYC anymore, and suddenly I’m facing four days alone in an empty city.

I CAN’T WAIT!

I was actually invited to a couple of holiday meals, don’t cry for me Argentina, but I am really looking forward to chillin at home. I’m gonna take my dog on a hike, go to an early matinee, watch some Netflix, read gossip magazines, drink champagne, and in general love my life. I might do a brunch on Black Friday, I feel like making crepes again.

I was fine with the extremely loud moving in my neighbors did last night and today, in fact I’m always happy to see an apartment turn over, because hey, some eye candy might move in. However, my heart really sank when, as I was quietly relaxing on my couch, I heard the first few chords of an acoustic guitar being played.

Please god PLEASE GOD don’t let them have an amateur band. I will certainly die.

(And for the record: no eye candy.)

I finally read Daphne du Maurier’s classic novel, Rebecca. It was good, don’t get me wrong, but not my favorite. I didn’t love it as much as I was hoping. It seemed a little old fashioned, like it should be taking place in the 1830s, not the 1930s. I think she should have set it in the past instead of the present (it was written in 1938). It also wasn’t a terribly deep read, but I loved her descriptions of the estate it takes place on, Manderley. And I really loved the descriptions of the meals.

Actually, probably the biggest thing I took from the book was a burning desire to have tea time. I can’t even tell you how many times they take tea in this book, but it sounded just like something I might like to do every day. In my estate’s garden, with trays brought out to me under the chestnut tree. Absenting an estate, servants, or a chestnut tree, I will make scones tomorrow and have tea at brunch in my apartment.

Our relationship changed so much over our lives, especially in the last few years. It will be the great tragedy of my life that I didn’t get to see what else was to come. I know everyone says you wouldn’t want us to be sad on this day, but that’s not actually true. Because I know you’re sad we didn’t get to have longer together, too. Of course you are. Of course I am.

I miss you terribly. TTYL.

My mom’s friend thought I might be going off the deep end and that I should write something less melodramatic so people didn’t worry. Do my readers not know me by now? I’m not going to pretend I’m not hurting, I’m going to tell you everything. That doesn’t mean I’m having a nervous breakdown. So. I am very, very sad, but I am not having a nervous breakdown. OR AM I.

She asked me why I wrote what I wrote yesterday. There are a few reasons, if you care.

For one, articulating emotional pain makes it somehow easier for me to manage. I suppose that’s why humans invented language to begin with, because articulating thoughts and feelings and requests and everything makes it all make sense. It gives it some order. So this internal turmoil has some kind of expression beyond pure hurt. I can’t spew fire from my mouth, or cry acid, or will the world to fall in on itself like cliffs falling into the ocean. I can’t do anything physically that could encapsulate how I feel. All I can do is make words to show how much pain there is. I don’t know why I need to show it, but I do. Maybe a neuroscientist can tell me why our brains compel us to share our stories; I don’t know.

For two, I write things like that so other people know they are not alone. There is a reason Post Secret is so popular. No one wants to feel completely alone. But this reason is secondary. I mostly write for myself these days. I don’t cling to other people as much as I used to, at least not out of grief, and I don’t feel a burning desire to comfort them anymore, either.

For three, to self-flagellate. Something in me wants me to feel bad about myself, to never feel good enough in certain ways, and when I write down how pathetic and ashamed I am, that something is satisfied. It’s not that I have low self esteem. I think maybe I feel that if I write down how disappointing I am to myself, I’ll do something to change it and make me proud of myself. Thus far, it hasn’t worked, but I do think that’s the underlying motivation.

I am having a disgusting and horrible day, as I always do on this day and November 18 ever since Wyatt died. I have this huge urge to sit out in the rain and let my feet freeze, and smoke a bunch of cigarettes even though I don’t smoke, get really drunk and fall down and hit my head or something. Maybe get hit by a car. I hate this miserable day and today I really hate my pathetic, useless, meaningless life.

Why can’t I move on like other people can when someone close to them dies? Plenty of happy, successful people have lost siblings, and you don’t even find it out about them until later, almost like a footnote, if ever. It’s not that they loved them less, it’s just that they didn’t let their siblings’ deaths define their lives. Or at least not in a bad way. But I do, and it’s bad, and I’m ashamed that I’ve let it happen but I can’t help it. What am I doing with his memory except wishing every second he was still here?

Why can’t I be inspired like everyone else seems to be after Wyatt’s death, or even just be normal? Why do I have to be such a depressed wet blanket all the time, stuck in this misery that never really goes away? Every single thing I even think about doing, I just come back to the question, “Why bother? Your life is never going to be good anyway, now that Wyatt’s dead. Nothing means anything.”

I hate that he died and everything he could have been and done is gone, wasted, and now I’m letting my life become a waste, too. I hate it but I can’t help it.

I’ve found that if I can find a way to be outside when night falls, I don’t get so sad when it gets dark. If I’m going about my day and watch the light fade out the window, I just sit there getting more and more depressed the darker it gets. But if I’m out walking around, it doesn’t feel so bad. Another thing that helps is Christmas lights. Is it too early to put them up??

I was a flapper this year.

Zakia and I gettin down at a house party.

The outfit was awesome and fun, a flapper is a great costume if you ask me. I borrowed it from Debra, who made it out of the remnants of a wizard costume actually. My only problem with it was that my tights were loose, so I spent 75% of the night hitching them up. It’s always something with me.

To the people who don’t go out or don’t dress up on Halloween – just do a little something, I swear you will have fun even if you don’t leave your house. And you’ll have something to add to your happy memories file.

Kyla came to visit me for her birthday and just left yesterday, and now I’m sad. To cheer myself up, I’ll tell you what we all did.

Saturday: I picked her up at the airport around 11 in jogging pants and Medusa hair. We went out for brunch at Lou’s City Bar in Columbia Heights. Then we went back to my place and took a nap cos she’d been up since 3:30 that morning. We got up, got ready, and went to my friend Megan’s for a birthday party for her dog. She even made him a cake! I tried a bite of the dog cake and it wasn’t half bad, it was like sugarless carrot cake with peanut butter on top. Yes, the dogs had party hats, yes, they ate cake off the floor, and yes, there were cocktails for the humans.

After the party, we all went out for dinner at a place that had $1 strawberry margaritas. How is that even possible? Then the diehards (me, Kyla, and Zakia) went out barhopping in Adams Morgan. The first stop was the Leaky Faucet, a bar that continuously changes owners and names, but never stops being divey. They had such a great crowd, but proceeded to clear the place out in about 10 minutes flat by playing the weirdest mix of undanceable music you can imagine. So we hopped next door to The Reef, which has always been a favorite of mine, especially the downstairs. It’s decorated like under the sea, or maybe a cave, it has foliage and wood and vines everywhere. They were playing reggae, it was good. But then we left and went to Grand Central. We hollered and goofed off on the dance floor. Then we went to Tom Tom but left again right away. After trundling back to the Leaky Faucet for one last $10 pitcher, it was time for a jumbo slice of pizza and a cab home.

Sunday: I’m not going to lie – this wasn’t the best morning of my life. Staying in bed until 2 or 3 PM sounded good. But I had tickets to the White House Garden Tour for 11:30 that morning, and by god, we were not going to miss it. Off we went, parking was a fricken nightmare so we parked in a garage, and then toured around the White House yard. Not very impressive. It reminded me of a golf course and I hate those things. But I’m glad we went. Then we had lunch at Old Ebbitt’s (of course), did some shopping downtown, and then went home and cooked ourselves chili and cornbread for dinner. The cornbread was cooked in the cast iron skillet, by the way. We watched a movie, Bounce. One of the worst movies I’ve ever seen. Why is Ben Affleck such a mouth breather? It’s awkward to watch.

Monday: I got up and made an omelet for Kyla and leftover chili for myself. We rented Capital Bikeshare bikes and rode the Rock Creek Parkway trail down to the Mall, past the Lincoln Memorial. We stopped to check out the new Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial, too. After we dropped off the bikes, we went through the permanent exhibit at the Holocaust Museum. Neither of us had ever seen it. It was a lot to take and seemed to go on forever, so we didn’t linger super long for probably the last 25% of it. It’s just overwhelming. I felt like I was going to cry the entire time. It’s good though – if you get a chance, do go. I might post more about that in a couple days. Monday night we went out for Indian food in Adams Morgan and then came home and watched the movie Big Fish.

Tuesday: We made crepes and cappuccinos for breakfast on Tuesday. They were so good. I made them when Christina came to visit, too. They’re fun to make with friends. My favorite topping is a little butter, sprinkle some sugar, and squeeze some lemon juice on them. Yum. Then we drove down to Georgetown to do a little shopping, and in Cusp Kyla found a pair of jeans she just loved for like 65% off. We also had some finds at Banana Republic and H&M. Then we met up with Maureen for wings and drinks on special at Lucky Bar in Dupont, then raced home to let the dog out before our movie in Chinatown. We went to Dream House. It was ok, but pretty predictable, sadly. So we came home and watched the Sixth Sense, which did a similar premise SO much better.

Wednesday: Kyla and Wyatt’s birthday! I made us breakfast sandwiches and gave Kyla her birthday present. It was almost time to go, though, so I was sad. After I dropped her off at the airport, I slept for hours. That visit tuckered me out. Then I sat alone in my apartment and got sad she was gone while it poured rain outside.