| Keep on bikin', I guess |
[Dec. 18th, 2006|05:08 pm] |
The weekend before last, my parents came into town to visit. They were here just over a month before, and then I saw them at Thanksgiving, but it was nice to have more time with them. They came in on a Thursday night, after 1am, so Ian and I had gone to bed since they have a key and didn't want us to stay up. It was neat to wake up and there they were! Ian went to work, and I spent the morning/early afternoon making the apartment pretty with mom and dad. The top of a spruce tree had fallen down next door to my parents' house, so my neighbor asked if my mom wanted any of the branches. My mom always makes sprays and arrangements around this time, using our own spruce or pine tree branches, and holly from my Grandma's tree. They smell good, look beautiful, and it hurts like hell when you step on the needles, but that's life. So, my parents worked on those, while I knitted.
In planning for this weekend, I really wanted to be able to take my parents to some Christmas attractions in New York. Last year, that definitely didn't happen. This year, I feel crappy almost every morning, and jetting off to Manhattan is out of the question, at least until the afternoon. I know that my parents are happy doing anything, or not doing anything for that matter, but the thought of them going back to Pittsburgh without any pictures of Christmas windows or the Rockefeller tree almost made me sick. They'd return with no stories, except for tales of sprucing (pun INtended) up my apartment, meals I cooked, and craft nights. Which are all well and good, but it becomes yet another instance of me not being able to do normal things, or feeling like I can't. Around 2:30 in the afternoon, I announced that we were going to Manhattan. I had a plan.
I hadn't been on the subway with my parents for years. I took them to the Citigroup building, which has a big, free model train display around the holidays. I wanted to go last year and never made it. Definitely worth it. Then I took them to the Barney's Andy Warhol windows, which I absolutely love! Next, we went to the Apple store at 59th, b/c my dad has wanted to go since it opened. Some more department store windows (Bergdorf's) and then a little stroll down 5th Avenue. I had planned the trip so that we would end up at the Rockefeller tree around dusk. We went home after that, and got dinner with Ian at a new restaurant I've wanted to go to for a while. We took it easy the rest of the weekend, engaged in much craftiness and homecookin'.
Sunday afternoon, after my parents had left, I went to Ian's friend, Amit's house to work on the photojojo project I came up with. DIY photo ornaments that you can check out here: http://www.photojojo.com/content/diy/photo-christmas-tree-ornaments/ They got such a good response, and consequently, so did my website: http://www.aliciakachmar.com which is still very much under construction.
This past weekend we had a small Crafts and Crumbs gathering. I started to feel really really ill an hour or so beforehand, which of course freaked me out b/c a) I don't feel like I'm getting better from these new drugs, b) feeling ill can imply another bad flareup and c) having people over is the last thing I want when I feel shitty. I got a little worked up over that. It all turned out ok, but Ian and I decided to not attend any of the Holiday parties later that night. I got a little down, did some crying, and expressed general discontent with things. Listening to people at C&C talk about retirement plans, health benefits, salaries, etc. is difficult. I know of no such things, and not to say that I did even when I was working: I was never a 9 to 5er. But to hear about all these normal things, and making plans, and careers, etc. is depressing, because I don't have any of that right now. My weeks are broken up according to doctor appointments, bloodwork, and my pillbox. Sure, I continue to do fun things, mystery shopping, knitting, but it's not the same. The next few weeks feel so uncertain to me. I am almost done with this 2+ month long run with steroids. I don't feel all that much different after being on new medication for over a month now. My mornings still suck.
On the way into the elevator at the doctor's today, an older woman in a wheelchair asked me, "What are you studying to be?" God, I wish I were studying to be something. I responded, "Oh, I'm done with school." She asked, "Oh, then what are you?" I said exactly what I felt: "I'm nothing." Part of me couldn't believe I said that, but in hindsight, that was the right thing to say. I'm nothing. I went on to say that I've been out of work for a while because of illness. I've kind of gotten to the point where I've stopped saying "I'm a teacher" or "I used to teach" or "I'm in museum education, but I'm on sick leave." At the Gawker holiday party last week, a lot of people asked this question. Fortunately, under the guise of alcohol, I can look at Ian, smile, and make some comment about how interesting of a question that is. Really I'd just like to cry or say "I'm nothing" and be done with it. Instead, I'll come up with something clever for these bloggers and tech people who are happily swimming around in New York media.
I haven't seen the girls since September and I haven't taught since April. Today I was biking back from the doctor, and though I was careful, I still found myself thinking about what it would look like to get hit by a car and thrown into the air. Would my body spin, or turn, or flip? What would it sound like? What if someone opened their car door while I was riding by? I reflect on the email from the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation I received recently, on the heroic comeback of some guy with colitis, who had his colon removed eventually, and now goes on these day long bike trips. Wow, that's definitely not going to be me, one of these happy-go-lucky comeback stories for motivational speaking purposes. This guy is biking and thankful for life, and I'm looking for forcefully opened car doors. On the way back from the library, I went to unlock my bike and this kid came up to me and asked about one of the gear shifts. He was probably around 10, on the way home from school. He said, "Is that a bell?" I tried to tell him what a gear was, what they do, etc. I found myself stumbling over my words, unable to really explain something to a kid. I'm not a teacher anymore, that's what I kept saying in my head. I can't even explain to this curious kid what a gear is. He walked away, swinging his lunch bag back and forth. I biked away, feeling profoundly yet again who I am not anymore. |
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