117 Days: My feet hurt like a mother…

Perhaps I should invest in one of these?

‘Scuse the allusion to rude language.  My feet really do hurt.  Badly.  It’s my own stupidity.  I’ve been wearing boots with a relatively high heel to my wine tastings this week.  Why?  Because heels make me feel more important – elegant – feminine – powerful – and some other things I could throw in there.  In heels, especially high heeled boots (and we’re not talking three + inch monstrosities here…more like anything over 1.5 inches, maybe two-ish or a bit more), I feel like I can face the world, and in a good mood, I could even take it over.  I mash my heels into the floor…I’m told I’m a stomper.  I like to hear my steps when I walk.  And basically, when you’re on your feet for several hours on end…these are pretty much the worst shoes to be in.  I dream of sneakers.  But in reality, I wouldn’t ever wear them when I’m leading a wine tasting.  I dress nicely, put my hair up, wear some makeup, some jewelry.  Why?  Because selling is a show.  And wine is a luxurious product.  And I need to be taken seriously.  And a woman in heels who is well put together (we’re not talking prostitute-ish), will be taken more seriously than one wearing flats.  Period.  At least that’s my experience.  And it makes me feel differently about how I look, hence affecting my behavior in a positive way.  The result: my feet hurt like a mother f…..

Anyway, Passover is around the corner, very very very  much so.  So, if you’re Jewish and stocking up on wine, remember me, my aching feet, and buy some wine from the Golan Heights Winery or the Galil Mountain Winery.  Top of the Israeli market.  Big award winners.  I recommend the Yarden Cabernet Sauvingnon 2005, the Yarden Katzrin Chardonnay 2005 (if you can find it…it’s a absolute dream), and the Yarden Gewurztraminer 2008 (de-vine).  Here’s a big Israeli wine blog, with a review of several of these, by the big Israeli wine critic, Daniel Rogov.

And those are my thoughts for the evening.  Did my Passover food shopping this morning.  Saw my doctor for another umpteen prescriptions, ranging from yet another brave attempt at conquering a yeast infection, to a mood stabilizer, to motion sickness medicines for the cruise I’m going on in Italy in a couple weeks (“thanks Mom and Dad,” or perhaps “good grief Mom and Dad,” should these Israeli meds not work and I end up vomiting for a week while at sea…).

Good night and good luck to you all.  And God help me through this week.

204 Days: Writing is hard work!

You know, you know, but you don’t know.  You know?

Right.  Let’s start making sense.

I have been a writing machine for the last few days.  And the hours just waft by like, I don’t know, water vapor.  You just don’t notice.  And you find yourself exhausted.  There have been other moments of my life when I was consumed with writing, for instance when I worked PR at the museum and I was working on quite complex press releases…or when I started writing this novel.  But I always forget how hard it is physically and emotionally.  It’s not just your brain and your fingers that are working.  It’s not just concentration and patience and inspiration mixed with research and brainstorming and mixing and matching and building and tearing apart and polishing.

Somehow it is 4:30 pm, and I have only taken a small handful of 5-10 minute breaks since about 10 am.  I’ve written three or four big sections, done a lot of planning, and I’m chipping away at the iceberg of a work list I have set up to finish this book.  But I’m also giddy from copious consumption of caffein, a bit headachy probably from fatigue mixed with dehydration, thank you coffee, generally disoriented from the string of different coffee shops I’m trying out to see which is the best work environment for me and, I guess, from staring at the computer screen for far too long.

But it’s good.  I’m determined to meet my fate proudly, standing straight, whether this book is a success, a mixed bag, or a complete utter dud of a waste of time.  At least it’s getting done.  And I can see the light.  Well, almost.

And do you want to hear a beautiful story about the kindness of strangers?  Well, if you’re still reading, you’re gonna.  I was planning on having the night to work, you know, the night owl that I am, to put on finishing touches, or to work like a fiend in broad strokes if I’m really behind.  That said, I remembered only this morning that I’m not in Kansas anymore (or even in Skokie, for that matter).  I’m in Israel.  And none of the local copy shops open until 9 am.  If I’m lucky.  And as luck would have it, I have to be at my worshop, printed, bound manuscripts in hand, at 9 am sharp, if not before.  Hah.  How on god’s green earth would I swing this one…no laser printer that I can afford would be able to print out a thousand or two pages all in one go.  Not knowing what to do, I went to the copy shop nearest my home, just to see if there was any way in hell they ever opened closer to 8 or 7 or 6 or 5 am.  Right.  Well, the lady listened to my story, said sorry, Fridays they open at 9 am, but usually on other days she does open at 7 am.  It’s just that tomorrow is her husband’s birthday and she’s cooking for 50.  Then she asked me what I needed printed.  I told her I needed my 200 page + manuscript printed six or seven times and bound, and then I took a deep breath and was hoping for a miracle, maybe another copy shop in the area would be open in time for me to get it done and get to my workshop, an hours’ drive away.   She told me that it would be impossible, everyone opened at 9 am, and then she paused, looked me in the eye, lifted her index finger and point right at me.  If you promise to be here at 7 am, I’ll come in especially for you, print out your documents, bind them, and then go straight home again, she said.  I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.  Wow.  I asked if she was sure, and she said, only if you can promise and keep your promise.  I told her, if she would be here, I would  be here come rain or shine, and I’d swear in blood.  We exchanged numbers.  This lady doesn’t even live anywhere near the shop!  She’ll have to be up at 5:30 am in order to get there for me!  And this with her husband’s birthday!  A good Samaritan, if I ever met one.  I’m buying her and her husband a good bottle of wine, even though I can’t afford it, even though this print job is going to cost me a fortune.  And I’m telling everyone I know that they have a new print shop.  Period.  I appreciate good businesspeople.  Why?  Because this guarantees repeat service.  This is special treatment if there ever was special treatment.  And something good always begets good things.   And even though I’m still borderline freaking out, I feel good.  I just got off the phone with another one of the workshop participants (who will give me a ride at 8 am from my neighborhood saving me a bus and a train and a cab — see the world converging to help me today!!!), and she’s really behind on her manuscript, too.  Like scary behind.  So I’m not alone.  It’s all good.  It’s all good.  And I believe it now.  Despite feeling like I’m barely an adult, I’m proud of myself today.

255 Days: No Slumber for the Weary

Absolutely Fabulous

I cannot stay awake. I am at work. And all I want to do is sleep. I cannot keep my eyes open. It’s that game – looking through one eye if the vision becomes difficult; thinking of things great and small, sexy and disgusting, painful and pleasurable, hilarious and tragic, in order to stay awake. It’s hard to even blog because I’m Iin a small room with two coworkers who I’m supposed to be teachings things to throughout the week so they’ll be ready to take over everything I do. Water, caffeine, nada.

How can this be?

1) I1)  was up watching Ab Fab into the wee hours. Sometimes I do things like wrack my brain in order to think of things I used to adore doing. Favorite books, foods, TV shows, movies, places. It’s surprisingly difficult. When I remembered Ab Fab, I went online searching for clips and landed a jackpot.

2) 2) My cats woke me at 6:30 am wanting to eat.

3) 3) Hormones? Vitamins? Medicines? All three?

260 Days: MASSIVE CHANGE

I quit my job yesterday.

I bought a ticket to India today.

I leave on December 1st.

When I get back on January 2nd, I immediately begin a 6-month manuscript workshop with an excellent instructor and small group to get my book beaten into shape enough for me to send to agents and publishers.

Also on January 2nd, I begin my life as a full-time freelance writer/food writer and personal chef.  I am already creating a business plan, of sorts, and I at least own the textbook bible how-to of setting up this kind of business (thanks to B).

I am shocked.  I am shocked and stunned and awe-struck because I am achieving my goals.  I wrote them down.  First, here in this blog, and second, on paper this week.  And I’m checking off the list.  I am nowhere near professional success…but I’m not on square one.  And I am much nearer personal success than I had believed.  I have accomplished or am about to accomplish the first four items on my list: finish the book; go to India; get a pet; find career/money/happiness balance.

• One – I’ve signed up for the manuscript workshop, it’s costing a lot, I have to work hard on the thing even before it starts (in the 2.5 weeks I have!), and I’ll be damned if I don’t make something of it with all of this structure I’m creating.
• Two – I got my ticket to India today!  I go for a month.  I wish it could be for two, but a month is a long trip, still.  I am being realistic.  I can’t see all of the country in this amount of time.  But I can focus on three or four regions, have a good time, and learn something.  I’m planning on taking classes on Punjabi and Kerala cuisines, and really try to get an amateur-mastery level before I come back.  Plus — I have number three to worry about…
• Three – I adopted two cats on August 8 of this year.  It was a spur-of-the-moment decision.  And I don’t think I would have done it otherwise and under different circumstances.  My sister asked me.  It was her last day on her archaeological dig, and the all kittens the site manager had brought with him from home to be adopted had been — apart from two.  I suspect they were the runt and the bad egg.  However, Cassiopeia (the runt) and Fischer (the bad egg, aka the tornado) have been wonderful.  After I got used to them.  The first month or two were very hard.  Very hard.  I always thought I was a pet person.  Instant companionship.  I felt invaded.  That my life was taken away from me.  My only safe haven in Israel destroyed.  But apart from keeping them from chewing on precious artwork (I live in my grandfather’s old art studio), and having to empty a litter box, they’re my family now.  I don’t love them like I love people.  But it’s nice not to be alone.
• Four – Figure out the work/life/money/creativity – well, I’m doing it.  I quit the job that was horribly for me in many, many ways.  And I’m going to put in a real, hard-working, 6-month effort at food and writing and food writing.

So, there you have it.  Living my dream.  Still, I’m alone on a Thursday night (like Friday night everywhere else in the world).  But it’s better.  I talked to several friends today, and I have some plans for the weekend.  No dating.  Kind of.  Mr 23 is still loitering in the outside lobby of my social life.  But tonight, I have an iMac, two (thankfully) sleepy cats, an apartment to clean, some old movies, a novel to edit, and a trip to India to plan.

Congratulate me, if you will, if you’ve read this far.  And let me know if you have suggestions for India.  I’m a (nearly) blank slate. You know, you can do it, too.  How simple it is.  Just write it down, and check the items off as you go.

My first blog entry: Just Another Number? Just Another Life.

My List of things to do before 30

290 Days: Withdrawal pain, work woes, and a messy escape

I am tingling, nauseated, fatigued, jonesing…and trying hard not to freak out.  Three weeks of weaning myself off of Lamictal, and it took this long to feel this bad.  50 mg.  I guess going down gradually is smart.  But I’m quite a bit sick, and I never thought it would be this hard.  I want to curl up in a ball and pass out.  Not have to think about anything.  Not have to work.  Not have to eat.  Not have to shop.  Not have to be a friend to anyone.  I’d really like to get drunk actually or pop a xanax…but I think that’s the wrong idea.  Self-medicating is not going to make this any easier.  And I’m starting to wonder why on earth I decided to get off of this drug.

Ah yes…fuzziness, memory loss, slowly firing synapses, vocabulary shrinkage, and ah, yes, still having some depressive episodes.  So, I thought the drug wasn’t working as well as it did, and why continue with side effects that make writing difficult to impossible.  I think I like the Cipralex.  Lexapro.  It’s OK.  But coming off of the Lamictal is hard hard hard.  Who the hell knew?  I want to scream.  I feel faint.  And I feel angry.  And I can’t do a damned thing about it.  Makes me question the taking of any drug at all!  Maybe I should just, I don’t know, go to therapy three times a week, splurge on massages, retreats, meditation, chocolate and excellent Scotch, and then…who knows…that sounds like a damned happy existence to me!  Who needs psychiatric drugs when there is a world of pleasure out there?!  Fuck.  Wrong.  XXX.  You lose one turn.  Blah.

These crazy symptoms started at work today.  Thought it might be a depressive/slow-ish day, but it escalated and the symptoms stayed physical, not emotional.  Funny thing is that I really needed to be productive today, and for the most part, I was.  Anticipating an emotional swell, I worked as fast as I could to stay ahead of it.  It never came, but the arm tingling, dizziness, funny limb-feeling, breathing weirdness, and faintness sort of built, and I knew I needed to get out of there.

I’m going back to the Ashram tomorrow.  There is a huge festival called “Zorba” going on down there.  Lots of music and lots of meditative new age-y therapy for five days straight.  I’m a bit worries about going down there in my condition.  It only occurred to me this evening that it might not be a good idea.  Then again, these symptoms only happened today.  It could be better tomorrow.  And my dosage only goes down in about four days, after my planned return to Tel Aviv.  I’m also nervous about returning to the Desert Ashram in general.  Last time I was there, my first time, it was an idyllic getaway.  Calm, quiet, peaceful solitude, introspection.  This time I’ll be camping out (not in a comfy dorm bed but out in a tent in the desert), having to provide or buy my own food, along with hundreds of other people.  Sure, it’s a great chance to meet people.  But I’m such a social head case when it comes to stuff like this.  I always thought being at an event like Woodstock would be a life-changing fun experience.  But seriously, I would probably have been the one person who kept to herself.  Wallflower.  Depressive.  Socially afraid.  Why would I think I’d meet people here?  But why not?  I had a great time last time.  So, it’ll be really different.  I have to think of it as an adventure.

It’s probably the withdrawal.  Sure is.  I had planned to do the grocery rounds tonight.  I had planned to pack well.  Get all the bus schedules.  Find a good book.  Buy a new notebook to write in.  Nothing happened.  I sat at home.  Brooding.  Rocking.  Sleeping.  Playing with the cats (who are amazingly friendly nowadays), and feeling guilty about leaving them for 2.5 days.  I have time tomorrow.  But then the guilt piles up.  I should be working hard tomorrow morning, so that it doesn’t pile up while I’m away.  It is technically a work day.  And I’ll be leaving halfway through to catch a series of buses down into the middle of the desert.  Ah life.

Calm the hell down.  Eat more chocolate.  Watch more Star Trek.  It will sort itself out.  It will happen.  You will go camping and meet interesting people.  What is the worst that can happen?  Nothing you cannot survive.  It will be OK.

If only I could find and kill the one mosquito that got into the room and is eating me alive!

G’night dear reader or two or three.  Wish me luck.  Maybe I will dig out a shot of something strong.  Help me through the night…