I’ve been listening to the Dead Man soundtrack when I write lately, and I can’t get enough of it.
This weekend is my cousin’s wedding–finally–and after this, my only real goal til the end of the year is saving up $2000 for my surgery. Man, I miss the days when I could ask my mom and grandma for help with things like this, or even the days when my ex offered to pay for this stuff because it was at least half his fault. (I turned him down at the time because my mom automatically paid for it, even though she couldn’t afford it, and because … I loved him? Because I’m an idiot? I don’t know.)
This week is the first week that feels like fall, and I am absolutely in love with living downtown right now. I walk everywhere–to work, the grocery store, the general store, shops, CityGarden, the Y, etc. With the giant buildings, sounds of the buses, tables on the sidewalk surrounded by pigeons, and a crazy mix of rich folks, scrubby artists and homeless people, this is the closest I’ve felt to living in London since I was actually there–ten whole years ago!
Speaking of, the Jersey boys are coming back for a reunion! I can’t wait. I wish we could spend a little more time in my neighborhood–I’m so proud of my city, especially my street and how crazy it gets on the weekends–but we’ll be spending most of our time at the farm for The Spot, and that’ll be prettier, more peaceful, and cheaper (see above) at least. And they’ll get to finally meet Pancakes the Cow, who they helped name during our last group trip to IHOP.
I’m also nervous about The Spot because Justin can only go for one night, and I depend on him a lot when it comes to sleep these days. We spent the first 2/3 of our relationship sleeping on a twin bed in the treehouse, so these days I still fall asleep the fastest with my head on his shoulder, totally wrapped up in his arms–something that always seemed ridiculously uncomfortable until I met him. I’m hoping all the running around the farm will wear me out so I can crash right away.
It sucks that Justin barely gets to meet my friends, but with so many people at the farm, I suppose he wouldn’t get to talk to them much anyway. (And when we London folks get together, it’s hard to translate our 2,000 inside jokes anyway.) But his mom lives close to Steve and he’s always wanted to go to New York, so we can always plan more trips to hang out with them and have even more stuff to look forward to.
After a long talk with Justin, we decided it was time for me to take sleeping pills again. But NOT Ambien. For the past two nights, I’ve been taking Ativan, which is meant to help with anxiety but I’ve always taken it because it makes me tired. Its been working well, but I only plan on taking it for a week or so to get my circadian rhythm back on track (or as close as I can get it to on track, anyway).
It feels so good to sleep, it feels incredible to walk downtown in the fall, it’ll be awesome to see some of my oldest, closest friends, and it will be nice to relax outdoors for a weekend. Now if I can just survive 16 hours in a fuschia dress and clown make-up, I’ll be good to go.
UNRELATED: A friend of mine was in a really awful motorcycle wreck a couple days ago. No brain or spinal damage, but he broke his leg, arm, hip, pelvis and punctured a lung, among other things. He should be okay eventually, but he’s still not breathing on his own and it will be a long road to recovery. So if you pray, please pray for him. And if you don’t pray, please avoid being a dick about me asking people to pray thaaaanks.