You know when you’re holding onto sanity by the most tenuous of threads, and then one tiny, inconsequential thing happens, one more thing, in a day or a week or a year or a life of little, shitty things, and you’re like nope, that’s my limit, I’m giving up, this life is not for me? Like (back in the good ole’ going-to-the-office days, obviously) you’re late for work, there was a three hundred person line at Starbucks, then you spilled coffee all over yourself and it starts raining on the way to the subway and you run down the stairs and your Metrocard is out of money so you have to top up and the machine won’t read your card no matter how many times you dip it in and out of the fucking slot and everyone in the line behind you is huffing and puffing and muttering ‘tourist’ under their breath and you’re torn between turning around and telling them you’ve lived in New York for two years, actually, even though your accent seems to undermine your point, and not wasting another second and being even later for work, and you finally get your credit card to function and grab your Metrocard and run towards the platform and see the train pulling out of the station just as you squeeze through the barrier and then your headphone cord gets caught on some random sticking-out piece of metal and the earbuds get yanked out of your head and everything goes cascading to the floor and you’re like, that’s it, I’m not going to work ever again, I’m just going to quit and go home? And how you’re never allowed to actually give into that impulse, the impulse to just fucking give up because life is so annoying all the time, you just have to keep picking yourself up off the floor and putting on a cute outfit and going back out into the world even though it keeps punching you in the face repeatedly? And how the story of your terrible morning won’t hold up to a re-telling, because when you break it down into its composite parts, none of them were really that bad, it was just that they were stacking up on top of each other in a terrifying, unstable tower that kept threatening to fall over and crush you, so you don’t even get any real sympathy beyond ‘oh man that sucks’ from co-workers with one eye still on their emails? And you’re like: is it just me? Am I just really unlucky? Or does everyone else just deal with this every day and not find it life-alteringly terrible? Yeah.
(Sidebar: yes, headphones with a cord. AirPods are ridiculous, don’t change my mind, you can’t. I had this belief even back when I thought they cost the same as normal headphones, so when my boyfriend left his in the rental car and insisted we Uber back to get them, I was like can’t you just buy another pair, they’re like $30 and he was like um, no they aren’t. They look stupid and they fall out all the time. I have so much metal in my ears left over from my emo days that even normal earbuds have trouble staying put and would have been lost to a drain or under the wheel of a bus many moons ago were it not for their merciful cord. So yes, headphones with a cord.)
(Also yes, Starbucks. Drink a caramel latte and get over yourself.)
Anyway. I got back from London last week and due to an extremely characteristic failure to plan correctly was leaving again for Washington State three days later. I was still stuck in GMT, waking up at 5AM and starting to droop at around 4PM, and about to travel three hours further into the past on the west coast. I was sad and homesick already, financially reeling from having to buy a last minute flight there and back thanks to my outgoing flight being cancelled two days before I was due to leave and no-one telling me. I was tired and not ready to go on a three day trek where you have to carry everything you need on your back. I was scared of getting eaten by bears. Etc. And then I went to the bathroom on my way out the door to the airport and: bam. Hello, period!
I hadn’t seen that bitch in weeks. Too many weeks actually, to the point where I was like I’ll just do this trip, enjoy one more week of blissful ignorance, and then take a pregnancy test when I get back, because fortunately I don’t live in Texas and have the luxury of an extra week if needed. And then, on the eve of a trip where I’d be in the woods with no showers or trash cans or even places to wash your hands, she shows her face. It was just a classic example of life taking a giant shit on you when you need it least and you having to deal with it, because what else are you going to do? I wasn’t going to not go. I wanted to see the Enchanted Valley!
Beyond the basic grossness and irritation of it all, there were also logistical considerations, the first of which was: bears and blood? Are they like lions? Is that a stupid question? It feels like one but also, why would I know that? Thank Satan for Google, I guess (they aren’t like lions, btw). They are, however, attracted to perfumed scents, so that threw basically all the products in my room out of the question. I would also have to carry enough of said products with me to last three days.
Someone told me once that the way I react to difficult situations is to panic, then calm down and sort everything out, usually without help. Which is good, I guess, that I eventually do the sorting out part, and everything is always fine, or as fine as it can be depending on the circumstances (this situation was resolved by Ziploc bags, a handful of Advil and a very understanding hiking partner, in case anyone is planning on trying this themselves). But I really wish I could get to a point where I just skip the panic and go straight to the solution. When something like this happens, it’s like my brain completely shuts down and I just need to sit on my bed for half an hour, staring at a wall and breathing heavily, while the person or people in my immediate vicinity say Fuck, that’s so annoying. That is seriously so annoying. That is the most annoying thing that has ever happened to anyone. This part is crucial; I really need acknowledgement of the irritation of the situation before I move onto the solution part of the show. But the panic doesn’t bring anything to the party. It just adds more time. And makes a better story, I guess.
But I also wish that occasionally you could indulge that impulse to give up for the day, even if it’s only 8.30 in the morning, and your boss or your family or your friend or whoever it is that you would be letting down by doing so would just understand, without you having to explain. And you could just go back home and get into bed and some kind person would come in and turn the lights down and fan you gently with a palm leaf and play relaxing tunes on the cello while you occasionally muttered ‘bullshit… absolute bullshit’ and they would make soothing shh-ing noises. Maybe that’s what a mental health day is supposed to be? I wouldn’t know, I’ve never taken one. Clearly.
One good thing:
I’m doing two good things this week because I make the rules.
Good thing one: not a ~hot take~, as the kids say, but I discovered Happier Than Ever by Billie Eilish today and it’s fucking amazing. I actually stopped halfway through writing this to mouth along to the screamy bit. Good to know the old emo impulses are still there.
Good thing two: I was insistent that we got a bear canister (i.e. a giant plastic tub that’s really hard to open, to put all your food in so bears can’t get at it) for our Washington trip and was met with some resistance – ‘I’ll just hang the food from a tree!’ – ‘The permit says you have to hang it fifteen feet up. Can you climb fifteen feet up a tree?’ – ‘Of course!’ – ‘No, you can’t.’ – etc. For one thing, the need for a bear can was written all over the Olympic National Park website, written on our permits, and was on every single campsite sign we came across, and for another thing, why would you deliberately not do something that could prevent you from getting attacked by a huge carnivorous (..? Is it?) animal? So I won, and we bought one, but it was clear my hiking partner thought I was ~overreacting~, particularly because he was the one who had to carry it for three days. But when we rocked up to the first campsite, we found the ranger, primed and ready to check our permits and be generally officious, and he asked to see our bear can. After he’d left, said hiking partner said: I have literally never seen a ranger on a hike before. Wow. You were right.
You were right.
Yep.
One bad thing:
Per last week’s newsletter I am still trying to cultivate a fancy girl personality, despite my knowledge that this is a fruitless endeavour. This week’s manifestation of said goal is by trying to do all my grocery shopping at a farmer’s market instead of Key Foods. Which is a noble goal, except the one near my house has like fifty varieties of potatoes but no mushrooms. Anyway – I bought some kale because I found a recipe that requires precisely one kale leaf, and was handed a bunch that was larger than my head. Why do they sell vegetables in such insane quantities? Why is the assumption that you’re always feeding a family of five? Not being able to buy food in reasonable portions when you usually cook for one is actually single-ist and I hate it. The fucking kale is now taking up the entirety of our freezer. Sorry roomies.