This is How it Works

 

Ok, so here it is, a typical day: I wake up at 7, probably too late, later than I should be waking up, but I just can’t get up any earlier. Then I hit the snooze button at least once, twice if it’s a bad day. Then I lie in bed. Just lie there. I listen to maybe three, four, I don’t know how many tracks before I drag myself into a standing position. I do the bare minimum, brush my teeth, drag some blush across my cheeks, grab my things: iPod, cell phone, pager, ID, wallet- and go. I get on the subway, maybe fall asleep, or try to, or just turn the volume up really, really loud and let Regina Spektor wash over me. I’ve become a bit obsessed with her latest CD. I get to 168^th street, walk inside through the passageways and bridges connecting the various hospital buildings, grab a coffee – half dark, half medium, half hazelnut, or some combination thereof, and I walk onto the floor to see patients. I work all day and evening, then come home, lie in front of the TV, order take-out, check email, and eventually crawl back into bed. Good life, right? Fantastic, even. I have no energy, no drive, no desire of any kind, no motivation, no inspiration, no reason to get up in the morning. I guess if I were a patient and I were a doctor, I might say I was depressed. It’s not a stretch. But I don’t feel depressed, just trapped, like a prisoner in my own life. I did this, though, I jailed myself. I locked the door and threw away the key, but now I want out. I want out, into the sunlight, into the daylight, into the real world, into someone else’s life or someone else’s mind. I just don’t know who and I don’t know how. I don’t know which me to pick. Me the doctor? Me the neurologist? Me the epileptologist? Me the psychiatrist? Me the lawyer? Me the ethicist? Me the judge? Me the diplomat? Me the politician? Me the consultant? Me the conflict resolutionist? Which one am I? I’ve tried me the scientist, me the musician, me the actor, me the advertising genius, me the editor/translator, hell, I’ve tried many things…And nothing seems to stick. They all work to varying degrees, and modest I’m not, so I know I can do anything and do it brilliantly. I just have to figure out one thing: how to be happy. And before I can figure that out, I have to find out exactly which of those people I truly am.

I’ve been reading books, lots and lots of books: Do What You Are, The Career Guide for Creative and Unconventional People, and I’ve ordered loads of others from Amazon.com. That’s what I’m really good at: reading loads of books. And I hope they show me something, tell me something, allow me to make better decisions and choices. I’ll admit I am completely and utterly a little freaked out; come July I will have no job, no income, astronomical debt, no visa, and no idea what the fuck to do next.

Any and all ideas are welcome. After all, you are my friends and family and know me best, hell, perhaps better than I know myself! Maybe I’ll have a contest! Prize goes to the best career-life-path-option! It will of course be a very cheap, probably home-made prize, but nevertheless…may the best man/woman win!

Kidding. But only slightly.

So here’s the great thing about life: not only is my career rapidly spiraling down the toilet, but, hey, my love life is already there, so, at least there’s some consistency to things!

I’ve been dating a lot, two or three different guys at a time, trying the whole non-monogamy thing, and it does work. Sort of. Ok, not really at all. I end up spending time with guys I’m just not that into, then different guys I am slightly into, then guys I think could actually turn into something and start to get excited about, then they either stop calling, go back to their girlfriends, whatever…it’s so disheartening.

Then you meet one, one you weren’t looking for, one who came absolutely out of nowhere, one who seemed like just a man, some man, no one special, a friend of a friend. Only something happened, we met, we talked, and talked, and talked, and somehow it got to be 8 in the morning and all my thoughts were swimming and suddenly he was here, with me, in my arms, and then he wasn’t, he was gone not leaving so much as a glass slipper. And I’m still stunned, weeks later, that I haven’t heard from him. I mean, no one has, so at least I can’t take it personally. Our mutual friends say his career is insane and he may be in

Japan

. She left her iPod at his house and can’t get it back. IknowIknowIknowIknow. The Rules. He’s Just Not That Into You/Me/Anyone. Fuck it. You can’t fake that, that sort of intense connection – intellectual, emotional, physical (NO, I didn’t sleep with him, there was no removal of any clothing). Or can you? Do men just pretend to feel those things? To look inside you? Do they make a habit of it? Because this sort of thing only happens to me once in a blue moon. I mean, more than most people, that’s the casualty of being ridiculously passionate, often to the point of obscuring reason, but still, passion is passion and connection is connection. I refuse to believe that these intense encounters are one-sided. Not possible. And I know from years of follow-up that some men whom I’ve had these hit and run incidents with still think about me. They just couldn’t be with me, for whatever reason. I’m not giving up on the Yalie (yeah, that other school, valedictorian and everything!). He has to call me. Has to. He would be insane not to. Insane! And I know it’s the last thing I need; a complicated entanglement, but that’s precisely why I need it. I need something good, something amazing, something nurturing, something that makes my head spin, something that makes me get out of bed in the morning, something other than Regina Spektor.

This is how it works

You're young until you're not

You love until you don't

You try until you can't

You laugh until you cry

You cry until you laugh

And everyone must breathe

Until their dying breath

 

No, this is how it works

You peer inside yourself

You take the things you like

And try to love the things you took

And then you take that love you made

And stick it into some

Someone else's heart

Pumping someone else's blood

And walking arm in arm

You hope it don't get harmed

But even if it does

You'll just do it all again

 

 

Comments

[ethan]

Check out the new Shins album. There's a song on it called "Sea Legs" that's a pretty good one to start the day with.