spooky ruminations
on staying in one place, feeling stuck and dog costume contests.
It’s halloween season, my favorite time of year. This past weekend, I went to one of the greatest activities that exist, a dog costume contest. Some of the best costumes included a dog dressed like Dobby the house elf and a charcuterie plate. I watched them from the Elizabeth Street Garden as the dogs strutted down the runway. Before the event began, the host reminded us that this was a big victory. Developers had tried to turn the garden into an apartment complex, but after two years of fighting, they had managed to hold onto the garden. “They are still chomping at the bit to get it!” he yelled. “The fight is never over. Now, onto the dog costumes.”
I keep buying new decor for my apartment, and then seeing it in the space, and returning it. I wonder if this is what adulthood is. Just buying and returning.
I went in to see my eye surgeon a few weeks ago. Thankfully, it was good news. Slowly, my eyes are looking more stable. “I just wanted to let you know. You’re one tough cookie,” he told me. “I did a much easier surgery on two guys yesterday, and they cried so much I almost had to stop.” Of course I was in pain, I wanted to tell him. But when someone is operating on the back of your eye, you learn how to sit still and move through the pain, so nothing else goes wrong. You learn to steel yourself to get through it, and build up a strong armor to protect yourself for when it keeps happening, again and again. I wish I didn’t have to be so strong, I want to tell him, but I’m worried I won’t survive if I’m not. Instead, I thank him for doing a great job. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” I say, smiling.
I’ve lived in new york my entire life, and have never been to the empire state building. A friend had a free ticket, and I think of all the iconic rom com scenes that have taken place up there, so we go up to the top for an hour. Seeing the view from up high, I thought it would be breathtaking, and it was. But soon the endlessness of all the buildings gives me a feeling of slow panic and I can’t wait to get down.
I keep trying to be happy in new york, to feel glad that I am settled, but something feels off. Like I just don’t belong here. I keep telling myself I am very lucky. I have no right to feel this bad. I can’t tell if it’s simply hard to exist in a place I’ve lived in all my life, when I always crave new places. Or if it’s because I got so used to the adrenaline of chasing what felt new and exciting, that staying in one places makes me feel stuck. Maybe I just don’t fit in here anymore. I can’t tell if it’s a feeling to work through, or a sign to make a change. And then, sometimes, I’ll have a nice coffee while sitting in the sun, or share a silly dance with friends, and think, okay, this isn’t so bad, I can do this.
On a walk, my friend tells me how he always thinks of the scene in the cartoon, “The Fairly Oddparents,” where they go to Escalator Land. As they’re riding up the escalator, Timmy turns to his parents and asks when they get to the ride. “This is the ride!” his dad exclaims giddily. Maybe instead of constantly looking for the place I’m supposed to be, and feeling impatient to get there, this was the ride.
The other night, I sewed two foam noodles into red latex to pin onto a costume. I was working on making it into a giant heart. This wasn’t even for halloween. Just another festival that required an elaborate costume. I turned to my friend Daniel. “This is when I feel the most alive,” I told him. I know, he said, and he went back to making his concrete shoes.
Oreo stayed with me briefly, but is now in rehab (rehab is what I call ‘living on long island with my parents’). One day, I was walking him outside my apartment, when another small dog stood on his hind legs and put his paws around Oreo’s neck. Oreo mimicked him and did the same. It looked like they were hugging or choking each other. I couldn’t tell. But then he kept doing it to every dog he saw, until it became a problem. I decided brooklyn wasn’t good for him, and sent him to rehab. He hasn’t choked since.
I saw another one of my eye doctors, and he told me my eyes are still looking really good. “How about we see you in December?” he asks. I realize this means no eye doctor appointments for an entire month. The best my eyes have been since I was told I’d need surgery in January. This is the only way I can feel there is progress. Larger gaps between appointments. That’s the only way it feels real.
I’m so tired of being sick, and talking about being sick. But I’ve had cough and flu symptoms for almost three months now. My neurologist thinks it’s from the immunosuppressants I’m on for my MS, and because my immune system is so weak, I’m not able to heal properly. “Just don’t go near any sick people,” she tells me over video. “I personally wear a mask whenever I can.” I thought about all the spaces I’m in most of the time. Surrounded by people, or on crowded dance floors. “Okay,” I said “I’ll do my best.”
The worst part isn’t even the physical symptoms. It’s this feeling that it will never end, it’s that familiar sensation of doctors looking over my chart and listening to me, and telling me they just don’t know what to do with me.
The other week, I went upstate to DJ an ecstatic dance for the day. Amanda picked me up, and opened her trunk. I handed her a giant djembe drum and she laughed. “I love going on a simple road trip with you.”
I have an air fryer now. For two weeks, it was all I could talk about. I wonder if this is what adulthood is. Just getting new appliances and talking about them constantly.
I went to a Halloween party in Chelsea that was six floors and every floor was a different theme. All the guests dressed in stunning outfits and on the sixth floor, a woman danced in lingerie on stage while dripping hot wax onto herself. I looked on, impressed, but also, felt nothing. Is this what New York burnout felt like? Most of the night was spent going up and down the six floors, finding the “best” floor to dance on, rather than actually spending time dancing. At a certain point, I turned to my friend. “I get it now. This staircase is the ride!”