I don’t know if this is, like, an actor in New York City thing or just a living in New York City thing. I’m betting it’s the latter. But the former definitely adds to it. Are you confused yet? HOLD UP. You don’t know what I’m talking about.

You know when you’re at a party and someone you just met is like I HAVE THIS ART EXHIBIT OPENING DOWNTOWN ON THURSDAY, YOU SHOULD COME! And you nod slowly and you’re all, Yeah yeah totally! because you’re polite and your mama raised you right. But you know, even in that moment, that you’re not going to go. I mean, why would you? You have stuff to do and your own life and you don’t know this person really well and they might be a terrible artist and it’s all the way in Hoboken and that involves a lot of train transfers.

You know what I’m talking about?

Or does this experience only happen to me?

More importantly, is my reaction common? Or do the majority of people in this world actually act on those invitations and pick up and go?

I’m seriously interested.

My gut reaction is always to say no because I’m sort of anxious by nature but more importantly, completely overscheduled on any given day.

I started realizing that my overscheduling is taking a toll and dude, it’s SUMMER and even though I am going to Italy in a few short weeks, I feel like I can make up my mind to change things before I go. I’d like to change:

1. My incessant need to fill every night of the week with something to do. (IMPROV! ITALIAN! PHILOSOPHY! ACTOR SEMINARS! YOUR MOM!)

I mean, I do have a Mondo Beyondo List that I need to work on but that doesn’t mean I need to tackle every single item AT ONCE. You know?

and

B. My initial reaction of “No thanks, not interested”.

I wonder what life would be like for me if every time someone said “I have this thing on Thursday night…” I said YEAH TOTALLY and actually went. What would happen? I might hate it. Possible. But I might also love it. POSSIBLE?

I’m going to give this a whirl.

First up is this coffee shop some guy told me about at philosophy service last night. He was all, DO YOU LIKE ICED COFFEE? and I was all YES BUT I SHOULD NEVER DRINK IT BECAUSE I GO BANANAS! and he was all THERE IS THIS MAGICAL PLACE…WHERE THEY BREW COLD-PRESSED ICED COFFEE…AND IT IS THE BEST COFFEE I HAVE EVER TASTED.

And I was all, WHAAAAAAAAAAA?

How do you brew cold-pressed coffee?

More importantly, DOES IT EVEN MATTER?!

The man said, YOU SHOULD GO!

And I was all, YEAH YEAH DEF!

But normally, I probably wouldn’t. I mean, it sounds cool. And I’d scribble it down in that notebook of “Cool Things To Do In NYC That I Should Probably Do But Probably Will Never Get To Do Because I Am Lazy and A Creature of Habit.”

But I’m going, you guys! I even e-mailed my brother who likes coffee more than anyone I know and was all CAN WE GO DRINK SOME COLD BREW COFFEE? Ad he said YES because he is awesome.

I’m going to have to set up some boundaries here because if it gets too out of hand, the over-scheduling problem is going to get worse. Also, I call magic veto powers on anyone who says “Come see my show” if I don’t know this person directly and if I’ve never heard of the show. My 27 year old self has sat through enough really terrible theater in this town. AM I RIGHT LADIES?

That being said, I’m 27.

I live in New York City.

I am probably going to be single for a super long time.

(Which, I think, is a good thing.)

So I’d like to just…GO DO MORE FUN STUFF. And not be so attached to my routine and stuff that doesn’t matter. I want to relax and meet new people and go to that flea market with that guy that makes t-shirts out of vintage bedsheets and go to brunch at that place that everyone keeps talking about and go rent a bicycle and hear some live music and sit in Central Park for a whole afternoon because I NEVER DO THAT.

And you guys?

I need to do that.

Happy Summer, y’all.

(c) zyada

Not sure what to write for my next blog post.

I’m sort of between a million projects and activities and classes and things.

So the creative juicery isn’t quite…juicing the way it should be.

But I’ll be back soon.

Got any requests? Lemme know.

In the mean time, me and my pencil will figure it out.

1. My dad isn’t screaming anymore. The trick is a tiny sliver of Valium. It’s enough to take the pain away but not too much to get him high and dopey. Instead, he gets sort of hyper but because he actually can’t physically move much, the energy manifests itself verbally and this is why I spent four hours at the kitchen table yesterday talking with my father about:

a. The oil spill and how bad my dad feels for the fisherman. (Really bad.)
b. How many weeks left until they can get him off antibiotics and he can have a glass of wine. (3)
c. How much he loved hanging out with us kids when we were little. (It was at this point that his eyes got misty and he started crying.)
d. How thankful he is that the catheter came out and he can pee on his own except he refers to peeing the way he and my mother used to refer to our baby diapers so instead of telling me he has to pee, he says he has to “go wet-wets”. (My father is 65 years old. FYI.)
e. How he thinks the worst way to live your life is in fear. (YOU CAN’T BE IN YOUR ROCKING CHAIR WHEN YOU’RE OLD, THINKING OF REGRETS. YOU GOTTA SAY “AT LEAST I TRIED”, THAT’S WHAT I ALWAYS SAY.) (He doesn’t always say this.) (But he kept repeating it yesterday.)

2. I watched the Tony Awards as has been my custom since I was 13 years old. If you would’ve told my seventh grade self that there would come a time when I didn’t count down the minutes until it started, didn’t whip out a VHS tape so I could record all the performances, wouldn’t scream at people in my living room to SHUT UP because I needed to hear the acceptance speeches, she would NOT HAVE BELIEVED YOU. But that night was last night and instead of feeling exciting because TONY AWARDS and BROADWAY and MY LIFE AS AN ARTIST, I was bored out of my mind. Holy cow. The only good part was watching it with my dad who kept dozing off and waking up and saying something completely incoherent. He wants you all to know that he thought La Cage Aux Folles seems confusing, regardless of whether or not Frasier is in it.

3. Remember when every month on my blog I did NEW YEAR’S RESOLUTION BREAKDOWNS so I could keep up with my resolutions and they were all cute and adorable like “Pay down $300 on your credit card!” “Ask D to go to dinner!” AWWWWWWWWWW. IT WAS SO SWEET.

And then my dad got sick and I got busy and if I wrote a blog like that now, it would be

a. SLEEP.
b. HANG OUT WITH DAD.

Funny how that happens. Maybe I’ll get back on track this summer after I come back from Italy.

Which reminds me.

5. Do you know how much it costs to rent a car to get the hell out of Switzerland? YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE ME, IT COSTS THAT MUCH. It costs more than the zillion dollar train tickets to get the hell out of Switzerland. So, we are just going to take a train. OR we are going to climb every mountain by foot a la Julie Andrews and maybe I can hire some nun to sing while I do it. IT WILL BE AWESOME!

6. My Italian class ended about a month ago and I wasn’t able to fit the next semester into my schedule. In order to keep it fresh in my mind, I asked my teacher if she would privately tutor me until I could get back into a regular class. She said yes because she is truly amazing and instead of saying “all day long”, she translates it literally and tells me she did things “all the day.”

Um. GENIUS?

Anyway, I love learning Italian more than anything in my entire life. I am now learning to use the past tense instead of just present so I can successfully talk about things I did yesterday instead of all the things I am doing right now. This is very usefl because as you can imagine, in every day conversation, you are often talking about things you did already.

YESTERDAY, I WENT WITH ALAYNA BY FOOT ALL THE DAY. WE WALKED ON SOHO FOR TO SHOP FOR JEANS WHITE.

Perfecto. Benissimo.

7. I do not have anything to say for number seven.

8. In philosophy this semester, we are talking about “saying and doing nothing unnecessary”. So often, I feel like I’m using energy to do things that don’t need to be done. Words fly out of my mouth without awareness, I’m blabbing all the time and saying things I REALLY don’t need to say. So. I’ve been practicing that. As a result, I’ve found that I’m quieter, more centered and my e-mails are much shorter. The same can’t be said for my blog posts. AM I RIGHT LADIES?!

9. I made spring rolls for dinner last night and vegetable fried rice. FROM SCRATCH. THAT’S RIGHT.

10. The twins asked me on Saturday why we call lollipops “lollipops.”

Me: I don’t know. In different parts of the country, they call them something else. When I was in college, they called them “suckers”.

Twin #1: Ohhhhhh ‘cuz you SUCK ON THEM.

Me: Um. Yes.

Twin #2: I’m going to call them something I just made up.

Me: Okay.

Twin #2: *stares at lollopop on stick* OH I KNOW!

Me: YES?

Twin #2: I am going to call mine “BALL SUCK”.

Me: *falls over and dies*

Twin #2: WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING LAURA?

Me: NO REASON.

Remember when I’m going to Italy in a few weeks?

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

This got pushed down on my To Do list for awhile due to other things like “Make Sure Your Dad Survives A Staph Infection” and “Buy A Pair of White Jeans”.

(BTW, should I buy those white jeans? Will I look stupid? I feel like I will inevitably spill something on them and permanently stain them but maybe looking cute for those first few hours before I do that will be worth it. THOUGHTS?)

Anyway.

I am going to Italy.

I don’t know if you’ve heard.

I will be traveling with some fierce companions. Namely, Famous Cousin Tom, my sister and my sister’s boyfriend Matt who I rarely talk about here but who is hilarious and worthy of several blog posts entitled STUFF MATT SAYS.

The four of us are headed over to Europe in mid-July to attend my cousin Beth’s wedding in Rome. We decided to sort of…make a vacation out of it. (A VACATION? WHAT’S THAT?) We are flying into Geneva for the sole purpose of twirling around the mountains with braids in our hair singing songs from the Sound of Music. I’m sure that won’t be annoying or touristy at ALL.

We are currently figuring out HOW to get out of Geneva and onto our next destination. We have a tentative schedule and accommodations pretty much booked but we’re having a hell of a time figuring out how to get the hell out of Switzerland.

(Note to self: write a book entitled “How To Get The Hell Out of Switzerland”.)

We figured we would take the train from Geneva into Italy and sort of work our way down until we get to Rome in time for the wedding.

(This is a set up to one of the greatest European vacation/wedding comedies ever made. Coming to theaters near you.)

TAKE A TRAIN! OH YES! GOOD IDEA! We declared ourselves geniuses. EUROPEANS LOVE TRAINS! TRAIN TRAVEL IS EASY!

Yeah. It’s easy. Until we attempted to plug in random Italian cities and all the rail websites told us it would take nine hours to travel from Geneva to Turin and I was all…what?

Also, it would cost approximately one million dollars.

WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON YOU GUYS? The Euro is dropping and yet I still have to spend more than my weekly paycheck on a train out of Switzerland? How is that fair? Aren’t the Swiss supposed to be neutral? Why are they so opposed to making my life easy? WHY WHY WHY?

Then Tom had a brilliant idea.

“WHAT IF WE DROVE TO TURIN?”

I…what?

I Google mapped it because that’s what you do nowadays and wouldn’t you know the driving distance from Geneva to Turin?

Is only about three hours.

DO NOT ASK ME WHY THE TRAIN TAKES NINE HOURS. DON’T EVEN. I DO NOT KNOW.

(The other train option said it would take thirteen hours to travel from Geneva to Turin. I am not making this up. Those were our choices. Thanks a lot, Switzerland. FOR NOTHING.)

So we have tentatively decided to rent a car to get us (everybody now!) THE HELL OUT OF SWITZERLAND.

The challenges I foresee include:

1. DRIVING THE HELL OUT OF SWITZERLAND. IN A CAR!
because:
a. None of us have ever driven anywhere outside the USA
b. I can’t drive in America, I mean seriously, I AM A TERRIBLE DRIVER. I’m most certainly not going to be driving overseas
c. Matt can drive stick shift but no one else can
d. I do not know who to dial in an emergency and haven’t yet learned to say HELP WE ARE PLUMMETING OFF A MOUNTAIN in any language other than English.

OTHER THAN THAT?

I think it’s a fantastic idea! What could go wrong! AM I RIGHT LADIES?!

Once we get to Turin, the trains run efficiently and cheaply and we can proceed on down through the marvelous country of gelato and pizza without having to get behind the wheel of a car.

Turin is a new addition to our trip and I’m not exactly sure what we’re going to do there. I’m not so worried because when I was researching places to stay, I came upon this description on a hostel website:

“Forehead of the building, there is a long and beautiful walk where to make jogging, biking or walking along the river Po.”

Naturally, I booked a room for us right away.

I cannot wait to make jogging at the forehead of the building along the river Po.

That is, if we ever get the hell out of Switzerland.

YOU FEEL ME?

These links made me laugh incredibly hard. Just what I needed today. Oh MAN. Enjoy!

Link #1.

Link #2.

You’re welcome.

Something has been healed in my heart.

It wasn’t something I tried to make happen. Actually, quite the opposite. Every time I thought about allowing the shift to take place, my ego tried to slam on the brakes. It tried to put up walls and it kicked and screamed until my stomach was physically aching from the struggle.

My ego is used to being in charge and therefore is very strong. It’s used to being fed and it’s used to me paying attention to it. It doesn’t seem to like being ignored and it doesn’t like it when I don’t listen to it. It’s not a fan of this New Me, the me who actually finds the ego hilarious most of the time. The me who simply observes the ego working itself into a frenzy and then dismisses it with a wave of her hand.

“Oh, that is pretty funny that you’re getting upset about that…”

“Oh, ego! You are so cute when you blame other people for your problems!”

“OH HA HA EGO! You who constantly thinks it’s about YOU!”

There were a lot of painful moments for me this week. Moments when I got that bee sting in my stomach, you know? Moments that made me say “ow” and made me cry and made my ego throw temper tantrums. My ego wanted to re-enact all these painful moments in my head. It wanted to have imaginary conversations with people, envisioning what it would be like to hurt these people who hurt me. It wanted to send scathing e-mails and it wanted to write passive-aggressive blog posts. It wanted to do anything but sit still.

And so I sat still.

I sat very still.

And I went down a well, a very deep well that I thought would never end. I tried to find the source of the hurt and the reason for the shame. I knew that the only way to heal was to go to the place I didn’t want to go. All the way down. My ego protested initially and its voice was loud and clear.

THIS ISN’T GOING TO WORK, YOU KNOW.

NOTHING IS GOING TO COME OF THIS.

YOU ARE WASTING YOUR TIME.

But I sat, silently, on my bed. Breathing deeply. And I waited. I called to mind all the things my ego did not want to think about. I gently guided my thoughts where I needed them to go. After a few minutes of this, this brave exploring of a very dark cave, my ego roared. It erupted with such intensity that there were physical reactions.

I let it roar.

I let it cry.

I let it out.

I hit the bottom of the well and I was still breathing. It was the loneliest I had ever been, the most scared, the most hurt. But I was still breathing.

I was unaware of time passing, of my environment, of everything but my wounds and my scars, some of them from so very long ago. One by one, I acknowledged them. I said, Hello. I remember you. You don’t need to be here anymore.

I whispered soothing love songs to the things that hurt. I forgave myself for the things I was ashamed of and embarrassed about. I allowed people to come to mind and I had conversations with them. Not angry conversations, not tirades, just loving words. I was gentle with them and with myself. I told them everything I ever wanted to say, I cried and I laughed and if someone or something was particularly painful, I stayed engaged until it wasn’t anymore. Ultimately, I let them fly.

By the time it was over, my ego was silent. There were no thoughts running through my mind at all, no judgments, no pain. In a startlingly clear space, I fell into meditation and it was the easiest it had ever been, probably because I had drained everything else out of me.

I opened my eyes to find that an hour had passed.

I took note of how whole I felt.

Of how quiet and simple and beautiful my life was in that moment.

I know that it’s inevitable for pain to come back, I know that scars can still prick and burn but I also know that healing took place. And most of all, that I needed it to take place. That I have been carrying around so much hurt, so many bags of emotional crap and…well, I needed to put those bags down.

Enough is enough, right?

I felt that shift, me moving closer to my truer Self, the Real Me, the one who knows the ego is just an ego. It’s not meant to be listened to or indulged. I don’t have to be the girl who goes to others to fix her problems, I don’t have to be the girl who isn’t okay being alone. I can choose who I want to be.

I want to be strong.

I want to be free.

This weekend?

I was.

You guys.

My car window is fixed.

It cost me $250 plus tax.

I went home last night to pick it up and check in on dad.

My sister made Mexican food which was delicious particularly because we got involved with fresh avocado and salsa and WHAT MORE DO YOU NEED?

My dad had had a positive day but had eschewed a lot of his regular medication, toying with the whole LET’S WAIT AND SEE approach which we all (should) know NEVER ENDS WELL. He’s trying to reduce his dependency on them so he’s not so drugged up so much and so the catheter can eventually come out and that’s fine except for the fact that pain medication REDUCES PAIN. (In theory, anyway.)

Naturally, all the pain that had been building up throughout the day came barreling down on dad around 8:00 at night and he went from 0-10 in a few minutes, out of nowhere. He started yelping and then howling and then the tears began. I should say that my dad through all of this has been strong. I’m talking TOUGH AS NAILS. But I think there comes a point for every human being when they just can’t be strong anymore.

We propped him up in the rocking chair with pillows which seemed to help the angle of his leg. He was struggling to breathe through the pain, succumbing to a wave of depression.

IT’S TOO HARD, LAWRA, he mumbled. IT IS TOO HARD. I CAN’T DO IT ANYMORE.

I bent down and looked him straight in the eye.

“Yes, you can,” I told him. “But you don’t have to be strong while you do it. You wouldn’t be human if you were strong all the time. You can feel sorry for yourself. You can get angry at how unfair it is. You don’t have to be nice. You don’t have to be brave.”

He nodded and his lower lip trembled, tears pouring down his cheeks.

“Dad, you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

More tears.

I told him that after his accident, Christopher Reeve allowed himself four minutes every day to cry and feel sorry for himself. He set a timer. And for those four minutes, he threw himself the ultimate pity party. And when time was up, he moved on with his day. That was enough. TRUE STORY.

You guys, I should get PAID for this motivational speaking crap, AM I RIGHT LADIES?!!!!!!! I pulled that story outta NOWHERE.

But I think there’s truth to it. No, we can’t wallow in self-pity all day. No, we can’t give up. YES! We have to be strong and remember this isn’t a paralyzing accident, this is a TEMPORARY hiccup. And it SUCKS. And it’s PAINFUL. And it’s HARD. But ultimately, it will end. And that knowledge can provide us with grace and compassion for people in situations that DON’T end.

For people on pain meds the rest of their lives.

For people with a terminal diagnosis.

For people with no end in sight.

My father is the one that pointed that out to me. How little he realized. How much he took his good health for granted. How other people have it so much worse. How much love he has found for them.

He seems to perk up when we remind him of how temporary his situation is. When he’s in a lot of pain, he tends to repeat whatever we tell him, muttering to himself, swaying back and forth. When my mom says he’s had a good day, he simply repeats, like a toddler “I had a good day, I had a good day”. When I tell him it’ll be over soon, he repeats, “It’ll be over soon, it’ll be over soon.”

And of course, it was.

He’s getting new medication that has something to do with nerves. (I mean, as in actual nerve endings not like OMG AM SO NERVOUS!) This seems to have made the biggest difference in his pain management so far which leads me to believe that once the nerves are relaxed, the muscles don’t spasm as much and everything calms down. I’m pretty sure I just MADE THAT UP. So look at me, a motivational speaker and a doctor, ALL IN ONE BLOG POST, FOLKS!

We ended up finding a PBS concert on TV of Carole King and James Taylor rocking out, being amazing. My dad, finally quiet and peaceful, got in bed and sang along to the words he knew. And by that, I mean he made up his own words because my dad doesn’t know any of the right words to any song ever written in the history of songs, never ever, not one.

Usually he just mumbles along words that SOUND similar but make very little sense (I’VE SEEN FIRE AND I’VE HAD BLAME…I’VE SEEN SUNNY DAYS THAT I THOUGHT YOU’D NEVER BEEN…) but you could tell the pain meds had kicked in and he was feeling witty. By the time Carole King started banging out “I Feel The Earth Move”, dad was belting out brand new lyrics at the top of his lungs from his hospital bed.

I FEEL THE EARTH
MOVE
UNDER MY FOOT
I FEEL THE PAIN TUMBLING DOWN
TUMBLING DOWN MY LEGGGGG
IN AGONYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

OH BABYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY

etc. etc.

It was then, as we were reliving the 60’s the way my dad should’ve lived it (high on drugs, at a singer-songwriter concert), my sister and I heard a crash coming from the side of the house. I peeked out the living room window and that’s when I saw it.

Something straight out of a sitcom.

A car.

Against the neighbor’s fence.

Perpendicular to the driveway.

Turns out, my brother and his friend were installing a new speaker system in my brother’s car. His friend left the car at the top of our driveway (which, of course, is on a HUGE hill) while they ran out to get some necessary piece of equipment for…speaker system installation? Anyway, Jem’s friend left the car in DRIVE with the emergency brake on and figured FOR SOME UNKNOWN REASON that such a position was sufficient. There’s no way a car needs to be in PARK, right?

Um. Actually you guys?

It does.

You know why?

Because the car needed to stay PARKED.

Um, at the top of the GIANT HILL.

Not long after they left, the car gained some momentum and ROLLED DOWN THE DRIVEWAY BY ITSELF, eventually careening off the pavement into the neighbor’s fence.

The back windshield was shattered and the trunk is bent out of shape and I think a tail light is busted along with part of the back of the car which is just sort of dented in a huge way.

My sister and I ran to see what had happened and once we realized no one was IN the car and that everyone was safe, we just stared at each other. And then back at the car.

And then…I started to laugh.

And so did she.

“OH MY GOD,” Debbie howled. “THAT KID HAS THE WORST LUCK!”

That kid being of course, Jem, who just recently spilled coffee on his brand new Macbook and had to replace it. That kid being my little brother who, like me, constantly seems to be in need of five million dollars’ worth of car repairs or computer repairs, who, like our ENTIRE FAMILY, always seems to be JUST GETTING ON HIS FEET when it comes to money when BAM! God is like HA HA YOU KNOW YOUR LAST NAME TRANSLATED FROM POLISH MEANS “DEBT”, RIGHT? YOU KNOW THAT, RIGHT? HA HA! SUCKERS!

Jem walked in the door completely furious.

MY LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFE, he wailed. WHY IS IT ALWAYS LIKE THIS!?????

My mother, sister and I surrounded him in a hug.

AWWWWWWWWWW JEM, we cooed.

And then the giggling began again.

My mom, my sister, even my little brother himself, all of us roaring because OMG DID YOU HEAR THAT CRASH!? CAN YOU PICTURE IT ROLLING BACKWARDS? CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS CRAP HAPPENS?

Car cruising down the driveway with no one in it, Dad in bed belting out “You’ve Got A Friend” which actually sounds like “You’ve Gotta Mend…My Hip…”, the laughter, the hugging, the pep talk, the tears…

My family, you guys.

I love them.

River: Because that is why a girl gets a big stomach. She is holding an egg in there with the baby in it.

Me: Ohhhhh, I see.

River: Yup. But NOT ME because I am a boy.

Me: Right.

River: Right. Boys don’t HATCH the eggs.

Me: Right!

River & Owen: UGH. I WISH WE COULD HATCH THE EGGS.

Me: Yeah! Must feel cool to have a baby inside you, right? Neat.

River & Owen: Sigh.

River: Anyway, I’m marrying three girls.

Me: Um. I think you can only marry one at a time.

River: NO, YOU CANNOT! You can marry three!

Me: Um. I am not sure about that.

River: (slowly, wondering) Well…you want to pick the nicest person, right?

Me: Well, yes! That’s a great quality. You want to pick someone nice and someone who’s fun to be around. You spend a lot of time with them so you want to like them a whole lot. Pick a good person.

River: RIGHT! THEN I AM PICKING THREE GIRLS!

Me: Okay. You let me know how that goes.

Owen: Laura, who did you pick?

Me: Oh. Um. I haven’t picked anybody to marry yet.

River: LAURA. You should pick someone!!!

Me: Dude! I know! Calm down. I’m only 27.

Owen: 27!?!?!? OH MY GOD. YOU NEED TO PICK SOMEONE!!!!

Can you guess where these attractive people are?

If you guessed “Emergency Room, 5 AM, Memorial Day”: YOU ARE CORRECT!

Aren’t they remarkably attractive considering how early in the morning it was? I KNOW! My family is adorable.

Memorial Day weekend got off to a kickass start as I had Saturday night free and spent it eating Italian food and watching some hilarious improv comedy with my peeps. My brother and his wife came and ended up driving me home to Queens from Manhattan around midnight. The plan was for me to run into my apartment, grab some clothes, get in my car and drive out to my parents’ house. I was needed early Sunday morning for Dad Duty (someone always needs to be home with him) and I figured I’d just make the drive the night before.

I opened my car door and found the passenger seat full of shattered glass. Oh, what fun! I discovered that between the hours of 4 pm and 12 am, as my car was parked directly in front of my apartment (in what I honestly consider to be one of the safest, most chill neighborhoods in all of NYC), some jerkface broke my window. He didn’t steal my car. Or steal anything IN the car. (THANK GOD! I have seriously awesome mixtapes from 1999 in there!) He just…bust the windows out mah car. So to speak.

FOR NO REASON!

My mom later wondered aloud if it was part of a gang initiation which, come on. Is my mom adorable or what? I suppose it’s POSSIBLE. But in Astoria?? What kind of gang lives in Astoria? Besides the feta cheese gang, I mean. SERIOUSLY FOLKS.

So. Annoying.

My roommates helped me clean off the seat and sweep up the street and I drove out to Long Island with a very intense breeze blowing in through the passenger side. Let’s just say all of the LIE heard me blasting my showtunes all the way home and I AM NOT SORRY. You know you love the original Broadway cast recording of In The Heights. YOU KNOW YOU DO.

I parked my windowless car in my parents’ garage and fell asleep in my childhood bed around 2 am.

No sooner had I dozed off when my dad yelled out in his sleep from the hospital bed in our living room where he sleeps.

Dozing dozing dozing…

Yell.

Scream.

Dad? Are you okay?

He mumbled, “I’m just moaning.”

The moaning eventually escalated to yelling and my sister, my mother and I ended up in the living room administering pain medication and massaging his left leg. Because he can’t put any weight on that foot due to the cement fixture residing in his hip, his muscles seize up when he lays down. They spasm uncontrollably causing him intense pain and he just yells.

My mother and sister tell me every night is like this. Not to mention, one of them needs to administer his antibiotic through his PICC line once every few hours or empty his catheter bag or give him a Percocet or any number of other drugs. Basically it’s like having a newborn in the house except the screaming is a little more intense and we don’t need to heat up a bottle of formula and I guess babies shouldn’t take Percocet but I don’t have one so I DON’T REALLY KNOW.

One of the most irritating things about my dad being in pain is the fact that the hospital seemed so unconcerned when they discharged him last week. My dad spent a total of 25 days in the hospital and every night, needed extra help to manage the spasms. He told every nurse and every doctor that saw him that the muscles hurt and was constantly rubbing his thigh trying to remove pressure.

Last Monday, they discharged him with some Percocet and a friendly wave. BYE!!!

Sure enough, a few hours went by and around 1 am, my father was screaming for help. Except…we didn’t have any help. So my mother called 911 and he went back to the hospital. They explained the situation to the doctor in the ER and in less than five minutes he said, “Muscle spasms? That is very common! You need an anti-spasm medication!”

I’m sorry. What?

Why hasn’t he been getting this the ENTIRE TIME?

When my mother asked the surgeon’s office the next day, they gave the lame excuse that my dad hadn’t mentioned it.

I’M SORRY, ARE YOU KIDDING ME???

They said he didn’t actually say SPASM so they didn’t know to prescribe that drug.

HA HA THIS WOULD BE HILARIOUS IF IT WASN’T SO TRAUMATIZING.

All weekend, I’ve been walking around the house saying OH! I am sorry! The correct answer was spasm. It needed to be phrased correctly in order to get proper medication! YOU SHOULD’VE SPOKE UP SOONER.

Sorry. I didn’t realize my dad screaming in the middle of the night wasn’t enough for you.

ANYHOW. He went back to the hospital the day he was discharged, got some new pain meds (anti-spasm meds! And Valium! Yay!) and was sent back home. Over the course of the week, laying in bed seems to be the most difficult. He’s happiest sitting up in the wheelchair and seems okay throughout the day. The issue is that he needs to lay down at some point, to sleep and to stretch that leg out. The doctors told us he really needs to try to keep it straight but oh, he hates it. It’s agonizing and so he spends most of the night crying out in his sleep or moaning or sitting up and laying back down and sitting up and…

It’s fun.

We noticed on Sunday that his bag o’ pee wasn’t filling up that much. We chalked it up to my dad not getting enough fluids and OH HO HO that was hilarious of us, wasn’t it? I awoke at 3 am, not to screams but to weeping. I stumbled downstairs and found my mom sitting in a chair, holding the telephone, willing it to ring and my dad sitting on the edge of his bed crying.

He kept asking my mom to take the pain away, make it stop, do something, please help him.

My mom called the 24 hour nurse and was waiting for her to call back. (BTW, I’m pretty sure “24 hour on call nurse” means SOMEONE BEING ON CALL FOR 24 HOURS but I could be wrong about that! I COULD BE!)

Not to humiliate my dad on this blog but let’s just say there was an issue with his catheter. As in, it wasn’t working. The nurse never called back. Her supervisor told my mom she wasn’t answering her beeper. So, reluctantly, as my dad cried, my mother dialed 911. Again.

It seems to be a Monday thing.

A cop showed up, an ambulance came and we all went to the hospital.

We figured we’d be waiting there all night considering it was a holiday weekend but it was actually empty. Twenty-two patients. One doctor. My mother said that was nothing compared to the week before when they took him there. We were met with a ridiculous security guard who stopped my siblings and I from going back to see my father.

“THERE IS NO WAY ALL YOU PEOPLE ARE GOING BACK THERE,” she said.

Then she went out to smoke a cigarette.

And we walked on in.

WHAT A FANTASTIC SECURITY GUARD! She is good at security. AM I RIGHT?

They fixed him up as we all sat around his bed, alternately dozing off and laughing so hard we couldn’t breathe because that just seems to be what you do at 5:30 in the morning, completely devoid of sleep and sanity. He was discharged at 7 am and as we exited the hospital doors, we realized that night was over and the sun had already been up for awhile.

We came home to a message left at 4:30 AM from the on-call nurse, HOW WAS HE DOING?

HA HA THANKS FOR CHECKING!

The house was silent Monday morning as all of us crashed and slept until the afternoon. Dad was better throughout the day but the evening was still hard. I felt extremely guilty getting up on Tuesday to go to work. My mother and my sister dealt with this every single night and there I was, leaving. I was there for a weekend and could barely function.

My dad has an appointment with a pain management specialist this week and we’re hoping to get a more accurate plan of what he needs. He’s taking an awful lot of drugs and some seem to be downright ineffective and unnecessary. A lot of them are also preventing the catheter from coming out and that is obviously not a good thing.

On the whole, I was grateful to be home, to offer any kind of support I could to my family. But I’m still totally wracked with a sense of how unfair it is that eventually, I get to go back to the city, back to work, back to a silent apartment that allows me to sleep for a normal stretch of time. My mom assures me that nothing can be done, that she appreciates any help I can give but that ultimately, I have to keep living my life and doing what I need to do.

She is a rockstar. My sister too. I am constantly awed by their capacity to give. We are all looking forward to the end of all of this.

Friday of this week marks four weeks with the cement.

That’s halfway there.

At the eight week mark, the antibiotics will stop. They’ll take a culture to see if the infection is still there. If not, dad can schedule a final hip surgery to get the cement out and a brand new hip in.

He is counting down the days, trying his best to remember that the pain is temporary, not permanent. That there is an end in sight. That this isn’t forever.

We’re halfway there.

We’re gonna be okay. 

(c) adelmann

Inspired by Laurie, I took a Myers-Brigg personality test. Actually, I took it twice and got two different results. What does it say about me that I had to stop at certain questions and ANALYZE THEM TO DEATH?

I believe my second go-round, which involved me just MAKING A FREAKING CHOICE ALREADY, is more accurate. I am apparently an ESFJ.This means I am a:

* slightly expressed extrovert
* slightly expressed sensing personality
* distinctively expressed feeling personality
* distinctively expressed judging personality

According to this summary and this summary, I am a Guardian, a Protector, a Nurturer, a Provider. I read the following paragraph and laughed because wasn’t I just talking about trying to figure out how to answer the test questions correctly? And freaking out because I couldn’t decide? WELCOME TO MY LIFE.

An ESFJ at odds with self is a remarkable sight. When a decision must be made, especially one involving the risk of conflict (abhorrent to ESFJs), there ensues an in-house wrestling match between the aforementioned black-and-white Values and the Nemesis of Discord. The contender pits self against self, once firmly deciding with the Right, then switching to Prudence to forestall hostilities, countered by unswerving Values, ad exhaustium, winner take all.

This basically means I fight with myself constantly. And abhorring conflict? Oh yes. I get this from my dad. It’s a great quality. If by great, you mean extremely unhealthy and repressive.

Hi, hello, I KNOW.

I liked this too:

Providers are extremely sensitive to the feelings of others, which makes them perhaps the most sympathetic of all the types, but which also leaves them somewhat self-conscious, that is, highly sensitive to what others think of them. Loving and affectionate themselves, they need to be loved in return. In fact, Providers can be crushed by personal criticism, and are happiest when given ample appreciation both for themselves personally and for the tireless service they give to others.

Oh man. If that isn’t me, I do not know what is.

According to further analysis of my personality type, I would make an excellent elementary school teacher (MY MOTHER HAS BEEN SAYING THIS FOR YEARS!), social worker, fashion merchandiser (I…?), nurse, hotel/restaurant manager (DEAR GOD NO, NOT ON YOUR LIFE) or radiologic technician (WTF?).

I guess the general idea is that I like to help people. And my feelings bruise easily. Or something. SO GLAD I DECIDED TO BE AN ACTOR! You know? It’s such a rewarding field full of so little pain and agony.

Oh. Wait. I lied.

My philosophy teacher (who is a drama professor by day) remarked recently that it is fascinating to him that a people in such desperate need for attention/validation (actors) choose a profession that is riddled with uncertainty and rejection. I think it’s interesting too even if only on a personal level. My mother has often commented that she finds my career path so surprising considering I am such a sensitive person. One would think I would’ve gone on to do something far less combative. Say, radiologic technician.

I like to think that me choosing acting as a career was sort of The Universe’s way of making sure I worked on my issues. I have to face that need for approval and learn to let it go. I have to get my feelings bruised so I learn how to toughen up. You know? Are you still listening? Even after I went all Eckhart Tolle on your asses and used “The Universe” with a capital “U”? YEAH. I DID THAT.

MOVING ON! More about my personality because this blog is about me and me and only me except when it’s about my dad:

Friendly, outgoing, neighborly - in a word, Providers are gregarious, so much so that they can become restless when isolated from people. They love to talk with others, and will often strike up a conversation with strangers and chat pleasantly about any topic that comes to mind. Friendships matter a great deal to Providers, and their conversations with friends often touch on good times from years past. Family traditions are also sacred to them, and they carefully observe birthdays and anniversaries. In addition, Providers show a delightful fascination with news of their friends and neighbors.

The gregarious thing comes from my mom and I definitely DO strike up conversations with strangers and chat pleasantly about any topic. My mother does this and has done this my whole life and when I was a teenager, I was all OH PLEASE SHUT UP. THE GROCERY STORE CLERK DOES NOT CARE ABOUT YOUR JOKE.

But the thing is, the grocery clerk nine times out of ten DID care about my mom’s joke and would laugh and they would exchange pleasantries and both of their happiness levels would significantly increase after that encounter. I find myself doing this all the time though I usually don’t even notice it. I chat up waiters, baristas, people waiting in line at the book store, people next to me on the subway. We don’t have lengthy chats. I usually just make a self-deprecating joke and we smile and OH THE CIRCLE OF LIFE.

On the flip side, most of the time, I’d rather read a book and stay out of it entirely. But if I have no book and you’re ringing up my groceries, too bad for you because WANNA HEAR A JOKE?

The good times from years past thing is hilarious because it is SPOT ON. Most of the conversation with my family and friends involves me sitting there and just blurting our random memories. REMEMBER WHEN I GOT STUNG BY THAT WASP? REMEMBER WHEN I ORDERED THAT EGGPLANT DISH AT THAT ITALIAN PLACE ON 11th AVENUE? REMEMBER WHEN MOM FORGOT TO PICK ME UP AT CHURCH CHOIR PRACTICE?

Good times, y’all!

I also DO find birthdays/anniversaries important…any type of family tradition really. And I do show a “delightful fascination” at the news of friends and neighbors. Except when it’s news from the neighbors we don’t like and DON’T JUDGE ME, we all have neighbors we don’t like. WE ALL DO.

So, wow! I am learning so much about myself! Aren’t I? Except I kind of knew this stuff already. But the analysis is helpful. And it is probably most helpful to remember my personality traits when I am interacting with others or in relationships of any kind. I suppose this is a way to draw on my strengths and work on my weaknesses and throw great parties because every website keeps saying I am a FANTASTIC hostess and I remember everyone’s name and am very concerned with everyone’s well being and HEY YOU, do you need a refill on that glass of wine? Let me hook you up because I AM A NURTURER and a PROVIDER and I am going back to school to be a RADIOLOGIC TECHNICIAN! What? Where are you going? I WANT TO TELL YOU ALL ABOUT IT. REMEMBER WHEN?