I suppose I've been a little vague, so in case I've not made it clear, I did get laid off from my job of four and a half years. I was let go at the beginning of January, given an end-date of February 28, which was later prolonged through March 31.
On Thursday, I said a final good-bye.
A co-worker and friend threw me an amazing, flattering, touching going-away party at one of my favorite local bars. I was warmed all over by the turnout of people I knew well, not-so-well, and even people I've not seen since they left the company previously.
It is true that a crisis can really let you know who your friends are and I continue to smile in awe of how lucky I am to have so many great people in my life.
I hope this final, life-changing event is the last chapter in the book of mini-dramas that seem to be my life lately. One tragedy followed by another and another... My strength is waivering and I am in dire need of something powerful and sudden that will rejuvenate my spirit.
Of course, Wednesday morning, I escape to New York for a week to hug my best friend an exhorbitant amount of times and play with her puppies (I'm not kidding - these are the priorities when I visit the east coast. I do not need to see shows or shop at Tiffany's). I play to drink, shout at baseball games on TV, laugh, have Frank's Buffalo Wing Sauce with everything, and read at least three books.
This trip is much needed.
Last night, in the middle of a wedding reception, I was struck with what I can only guess was a panic attack. I was standing with friends in the reception, battling the warm temperature and crowd, feeling as though my waistline was tightening and my chest was growing heavier. It came and went that way until finally, I had to escape to another, less crowded, cooler room. I survived there, quietly, for a little while but the feeling of strange claustrophobia came back -- and stronger. I jumped up out of my seat and dashed outside.
Despite the cold, I managed to calm down a little. I took out my phone and distracted myself with a few e-mails and games. I don't know how long it was that I sat out there, eyeing the smokers and missing cigarettes, making friends with the artsy hotel guests, but it was probably a good while. I finally found strength to go back inside, but only to use the restroom. I came right back outside and determined I would not be able to go back in. I felt terrible but in my head, this made sense.
In my car, on thw way home, I felt crazy. I was thinking about my laptop, which had broken yesterday morning, fearing I would not be able to fix it. I was thinking about the belt of my dress, which had broken during the reception. I was realizing this would be the first Monday in a very long time when I did not have to be somewhere for work.
But home at last, in my apartment, sitting on my bed, I suddenly felt just fine. I was able to get ready for bed and lay down comfortably.
Maybe I just needed to get some of that shit out of my system. The timing certainly sucked but maybe my mind needed to purge itself a little -- as if to say I've been strong long enough and it's okay to be a little crazy when things get this tough.
Some people would agree it is okay to be crazy. Some people tell me I need to tough it out and be brave. I think realistically, I'm gonna fall in the middle of that somewhere, which is okay with me. Luckily, with all the dredgery in my life, there is also much to be happy about. The trip, my friends, my teenagers, my family and this internet void I pour my heart out to not-often-enough.
The memory of arriving at JFK is a powerful one for me. I always remember the air being brisk and the noises of taxis and shuttles. Youc an always tell the natives from the tourists and I love them all. I remember it so well that I can practically smell it. I cannot wait to get there.
