Stress is like Punching Someone through Molasses

Last night, I dreamt that it was the day of my best friend’s wedding and my other best friend, a fellow bridesmaid, reminded me that we’d not yet bought our dresses. For the wedding. That day. She goes, “Let’s just run to Target really quick.”

On our way through the parking garage (wherever we were), I stopped at my car to get something, and these five or six young guys started toward me. I thought about trying to hide behind the car, but figured they’d find me anyway, so I just sort of faced them. Two of them had ballpoint pens aimed at me like weapons and the others were unarmed, but still circling around me and being threatening.

I decided I needed to come out swinging, literally, and brought my arm back to land a punch on one of the punks.

As per usual, as per every single dream where I’ve tried to fight someone, my fist took about thirty seconds to reach the kid’s face. I don’t know what that is in miles-per-hour or force or whatever, but it’s pretty goddamn slow and pretty goddamn weak. Ineffective, to say the least.

It didn’t matter whether I threw a punch with my left or right, neither of them would do any good. Or any harm, I should say.

Kicks were the same way.

I even got the pens away from the losers at one point and were attempting to stab them. Nothing. Probably didn’t even leave an ink mark on their shirts.

Not only is this frightening, but it’s stressful. And it arouses many questions. Why can’t I defend myself? If I don’t defend myself, I’m going to get hurt. I don’t want to get hurt. Why am I so weak?

Every. single. dream. involving a fight.

And usually, I have these dreams when I’m anxious about something. So the fact that I can’t defend myself or I’m too weak to inflict any harm on someone who is trying to harm me doesn’t really help with my anxiety or stress.

I’m sure I could make some claim about how I’m feeling helpless IRL so it’s translating into the dream. It’s just cyclical. Like, it’s bothered me all goddamn day.

I’m feeling anxious and stressed out and helpless and fearful because of the drunk’s upcoming hearing on Thursday. I won’t even be doing anything; I don’t even have to go, technically. I just want to go so that I can hear him plead and hear his fate. I don’t even think he’ll receive sentencing; who knows. I just can’t not go. I can’t sit at home and wait to hear what’s next. That’s all I’ve fucking been able to do since this accident. Sit at home, receive bills, send emails, see doctors, make phone calls to hospitals/insurance/bill collectors. It’s been truly maddening.

I just want it all to be over. I want my medical bills paid, I want to be healed and healthy again, I want to wake up and not wonder who or what related to the case I’ll have to deal with that day.

I know complaining makes little-to-no sense. If I had chosen this, I wouldn’t be able to complain; this is just something that happened, so I shouldn’t complain. The thing is, though, that it’s something that shouldn’t have happened. Something that didn’t need to happen.

This has been the longest slow-motion punch and I desperately need it to make contact and inflict damage. For once.

Layover

In my weakened, sickly state the past few days. I had the privilege of boredly perusing the B movies on Netflix. I came across one called Take This Waltz with Michelle Williams, Seth Rogen, Luke Kirby, etc. Besides being a pretty horrible movie, honestly, there was one quote that sort of stunned me.

Williams’s character gets anxious when she has a connecting flight. She says it’s not because she’s afraid of getting lost and missing her flight, it’s just that she is afraid of the uncertainty and the limbo about it. She confides in Kirby’s character about this fear.

His quote to her later is what stuck with me (besides how much I did not enjoy the rest of the film, although got too far into it to not finish it. Hey, what can I say, I stick to my commitments. Off topic.):

“I’ve been thinking about that airport fear of yours, of being in between things. I think I kinda hate it too. I know it’s kind of the nature of being alive, but I’d like to avoid it wherever possible. I don’t think I wanna be in between things” (Take This Waltz, 2011, http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1592281/?ref_=sr_1).

I have to give this shitty, Indie film credit. Somehow it managed to describe exactly how I feel/have been feeling lately. I’m just inbetween.

I have this impending London adventure and I’m just biding my time.

I’m waiting for my connecting flight and it’s taking forever for the stewards to call boarding.

I’m double- and triple-checking my boarding pass to make sure I have my seat memorized, but it doesn’t matter because I still have so much time that I’ll be checking it again when I queue up.

I’m between. I’m in a life layover. I hate to feel like my “life hasn’t started” until I leave for London, but part of me kind of does.

I love my job, the people I work with, my apartment, my alone time, my ability to be a lazy ass, time spent with friends and family, all of it. But…

I’m still stuck in the airport, waiting for my connecting flight. Life has brought me here, and I have to wait for it to take me there.

It’s a bit maddening. I’m not a very patient person.

The time can be so short and yet so long – such a short amount of time between now and when I hopefully leave, and yet it feels an eternity.

I should look at this as an opportunity to focus on… whatever… and work on my patience.

But that’s the thing, I don’t use my time wisely. I fill my time with everything else I want to do and wait until the last minute to get to work.

And I don’t want to be in between things.

Call me Cameron

Since the Federal Reserve was closed for President’s Day yesterday, I had a bit of time on my hands at work. I, of course, put it to good use.

I had decided that I’d be staying in a hotel long-term while I’m in London. Six months in a hotel room sounded awful, so I figured that I would just move hotels every so often, maybe to different areas of London so I can get different perspectives, etc. That plan was all fine and good until I Googled “extended stay London.”

What I found were property management websites where people can rent actual Londoner’s flats/houses for an extended period of time. Why the hell didn’t I think of that sooner? I always loved that about the movie The Holiday with Cameron Diaz and Kate Winslet. That little English cottage was adorable.

I wouldn’t live in an English cottage in the countryside; however, I’d definitely live a flat in the city.

I found about four options so far that would be doable and that are totally me. I like this option a lot more than a hotel because I want to live in London anyway, so why wouldn’t I stay in a flat? I thought about renting my own flat, but then I’d have to sign a lease and furnish it and deal with all this extraneous shit that comes with renting an apartment. No, this option – renting someone’s actual place – is perfect.

Some of these places even have hotel-ish amenities. How could I pass those up? Cleaners, wifi, sheets, towels, toiletries, etc.

I’m so pumped. I wish I could book it today so that it was in the bag. I haven’t actually turned my visa application in yet (just need a couple more documents).

 

I’m going to make sure my application is turned in by the end of the month. I can’t remember if I’ve rambled on about this already or not. I read that it can take anywhere from three weeks to three months to approve. I will be providing evidence of sufficient funds, so it will be fine that I’ll be unemployed at the time of the trip (I would think, I’ll get a letter from my employer stating the plan). Other than that, I just need to make sure the application is filled out correctly and get a passport photo taken.

I’ll be on pins and needles waiting for that thing to get approved. There shouldn’t be any reason for me to not be approved, I’m just completely impatient. I already want to book my plane tickets and rent this flat.

Hell, I’d start packing now if I could.

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