Category: Life

  • Fixing Nightmares

    I’m just not feeling today. Part of it is that I didn’t sleep well last night, which was due to my mind not shut off. I was having a negative thought downward spiral, where I was listing everything that I was disappoint in about myself, as well as saying to myself over and over again that I will never succeed at anything I truly desire.

    Good times in the self-defeating department.

    And then at about 3 in the morning, the kid woke up from a bad dream, and wanted me to snuggle her back to sleep. That made things a little better. I didn’t ask her what the bad dream was about, as I have found that asking her to relive the nightmare sometimes makes things worse, as it just scares her all over again. What works better is to play a game of naming all the things that makes us happy. We go back and forth, I normally start, and we do this until she either feels better, or falls asleep.

    I start with an easy one;

    Me- Snuggles

    Her – My doll

    Me – Reading books

    Her – Drawing pictures

    Me – Pizza

    Her – Cheesy noodles

    Me – The dog

    Her – Friends at the park

    After a few back and forth’s, she is out. I hold on to her for a minute or two more just to make sure she’s asleep. Then I slow slink out of her room, with the job accomplished.

    Not that I got back to sleep right away, but I tried thinking about the things that keep me going, the goals I have. Generally, I keep it together, but there are those days when everything feels a million miles away, and nothing will change it.

    That is the Covid-isolation brain talking. I have been pretty much doing the same thing for a year now, and it just feels like nothing has changed. But feelings aren’t necessarily facts.

    I’m just tired.

  • Covid Guilt: I’m Doing What I Can

    I’m ran the kid through her reading drills, and now she is in her remote class, working on writing words and sentences.

    I guess this is now normal for her. I wonder what she will remember about all of this? At what age will she look back and say, this was a completely messed up time to be alive? I can hear her wonder aloud one day, “How did three people stuck in a tiny apartment in Upper Manhattan survive this? How did we not all go insane?”

    I don’t know the answer to that. I’m not sure if I will ever understand how to answer that.

    The other night the wife asked me if I had an exercise plan. My answer is that I’m not planning on working out until the kid gets back into school, and I’m not going to feel bad about that. I am the primary care giver for the kid; parent, teacher, partner in crime in playing around the apartment. It takes up just about all of my time. To carve out an hour a day, three to four times a week, is just about impossible. And I’m tired of beating myself up over it. I’m putting the kid’s wellbeing first, and that’s good enough.

    None of this is normal, but I keep fooling myself that I should be able to get it all done. Some days I can do it all, but most days I can’t. Just making it to tomorrow, happy and health is a victory.

  • Secret Fascination: Ivy League Style

    I have a secret fasciation that I use Instagram to indulge in; I follow several profiles that display clothing in the “Ivy League” style. I have also heard it called “Oxford Style” as well.

    It started a while ago when I was dressing as professional as possible for work. And when I say “professional” for work, it really started off by tucking in my button-down shirt with my jeans, and threw a tie on it all. Then I moved on to khaki pants, and sportscoats got added. I felt like I was recreating a “preppy look” from high school that grungy me used to hate, but for some reason, I started to enjoy.

    In the name of exploring, I started looking to Instagram for help. I follow #ivystyle, and also @navyblueblazer, @oxfordclothbuttondown, and @arnoldsteiner, and it’s fun, and makes me sort of miss a time when I had to put on a “uniform” to go to work.

    But, there was this thought in the back of my head that couldn’t shake; this is kind of a conservative way of dressing, and I’m a pretty liberal person, so what’s up with me? Why am I interested in tweed, and blazers? Crew neck sweaters, and button-down shirts. Argyle socks, and tartan ties. Khaki pants and anything from L.L. Bean. And anything that is colored navy. To be blunt, it’s pretty WASP-y.

    Is this happening to me because I had a kid and turned 40? Is this because I want to live in New England? Or am I just getting tired of t-shirts and jeans? I’m never giving up my All-Stars, though. That’s just who I am.

  • Working for an Alcoholic

    I had a plan this morning on what I was going to blog about. I follow several “Ivy Style” people and stores on Instagram, and I wanted to write about how this has turned into a small obsession with me as I am looking forward to the day when I can put on a shirt, tie and sportscoat and go to work again, or see a play, or just be out of the house.

    As I began to write about this subject, I thought back as to when I started dressing in this “Ivy Style.” It was back when I was the number two at a rehearsal studio, and my boss was an alcoholic. He would show up hours late, hungover, would miss meetings that I would have to take over, and when he did arrive, he would look disheveled and unkempt. When his alcoholism truly got out of hand, by which he was sitting in his office and drinking all day in view of clients, I decided that I needed to demonstrate to our customers that I was the responsible one, and I decided to accomplish this I would begin wearing a shirt and tie to work.  

    And when I thought about working in that studio and with my alcoholic boss, a wave of emotions dropped over me; shame, annoyance, a sort of passive aggressive futile resignment, and anger. So much anger erupted in me. Anger at the owner for ignoring the problem because his business was booming in spite of the supervisor’s dereliction. And anger at myself for putting up with it for so long. For putting up with a situation I hated being in, but couldn’t muster the courage to leave. Eventually I did quite that job, but only after a year of unrelenting stress.

    These ancient memories and emotion have washed over me, and my day has now been sidetracked. I tried for about an hour to return to my original blog topic, which maybe I will get to another day, but every time I started on it, I kept going back to that time in my life. Over and over again. I just gave up and put this out. Maybe to let it go, maybe to say that there is still something lingering there that I haven’t dealt with. But something is there, because why would I have such a strong reaction to that period in time from so long ago?

  • A Story of Living in New York

    In the spring of 2017, I don’t know exactly when, but I know it was warm out as you still needed a coat. I left work a little early and was walking down the west side of 6th Avenue, between 15th and 16th street. My intention was to get over to the 14th Street 1,2,3 station, as I needed to get uptown in a hurry, and trains on the Red line get rather stupidly packed at rush hour.

    I was lost in my own thoughts, as the company I worked for was nearing bankruptcy and I had the job to try and stop that from happening. (It didn’t end well, so you know.)  As I tried to puzzle out a solution, I looked down 6th Ave and walking up the street toward me was Fran Lebowitz. She was just walking, dressed how Fran always dresses, and passed me without a glance.

    That’s it, that’s my story.