Yesterday was an exhausting, confusing, often painful mix of real life, old anxieties, family drama, and life-changing opportunities colliding, at times slamming me against the wall so hard I was beyond tears. Beyond breathing. I had a fantasy bubble float over my head at one point that I'd hired a stylist ($1000 a day was the quote from the lovely woman who took time out of her day to give me advice), and would spend hours at my favorite spa, lounging in the steam room before getting a kick ass massage that would get rid of the knot that's taken up residence in my left shoulder. That someone would feel my children, do the monstrous piles of laundry that have now piled up, and intervene during any and all moments of bickering, whining, complaining, arguing, missing homework angst, boredom rants, and the like.
Nope. It was all me. Doing all my usual stuff with the added pressure of appearing on national television in front of millions of people and having nothing to wear. At least nothing that would make sense in that venue. I live in jeans and t-shirts. Lots of scarves. Vintage coats. Walking down the street in the west village I'm usually styling in a big way. But none of that's working on The View set.
After a middle school PTA meeting in which we hijacked the presidency (my newest job title), it was on to family drama. Someone (who's read this blog and has taken great offense, out of context, to things I've written), was enraged that I chose to tell another person, my actual relative, about the booking first. That phone call ended in screams and accusations and I've since been banned from calling their house. While I've worked hard to not take offense, to be open and welcoming and accommodating, I've been loved or hated, in the extreme, with emotions switching so fast I had no idea it was happening, for over 20 years. I know it's not me, but when at the edge of a precipice, something huge and unknown and different, anything can knock me off. This person's venom, jealousy, hatred has seeped in through a small crack of self-doubt and I'm having trouble letting go of self-righteousness and anger.
Which leads me to clothes. I hit a vintage shop in the west village and bought, what I thought, could be the perfect dress. Black, matte, 3/4 sleeves and collar edged in nude satin with subtle beading. It fit. It was fine. It didn't make me feel fabulous or sexy or super present like my lace dress that I wore to my fancy book launch party did, but, it could work. At home I tried it on with funky boots and watched Iz's face fall. Nothing will ever erase that look of disdain, dislike. She was right.
And so I headed to yoga. Where I couldn't breathe. Couldn't balance. Couldn't find the flow of class. Finally, more than halfway through, the tears came as I curled tight into a child's pose. Burning hot down my cheeks, I couldn't hold them back anymore.
After that? I went pants shopping. Sometimes, when I'm at my lowest point, trying on clothes and seeing how they don't fit is the sustenance my anorexic soul needs, fuel to berate myself with. I hit the Gap and only brought my new double digit size into the dressing room with me. The pants were a bit big, roomy and comfortable. And looked fine. Of course, instead of accepting this reality, I grabbed 8s to compare and contrast. They zipped. Were slightly tight. I threw them on the reject pile and got in line to pay for the bigger ones. I knew disaster was looming.
My phone died on the walk home, a telling sign life is too rocky at the moment. I never let power get to that point. I was lost, not able to call someone for support with all these disparate stresses roiling through my mind.
And then I got home. It was a night fraught with missing homework, dinner drama, endless arguments on top of all else I'd been carrying all day. I had just about the fullest inbox I'd ever had, emails I had to process and respond to, countless tweets to catch up on. Excitement and support mixed with aggravation and soul-numbing sameness.
At that point all I could do was cry until I couldn't anymore.
And then, get back on my bandwagon.
Today? Yoga, in hopefully a better frame of mind. Shopping, but with a purpose. I'll be avoiding parts of my family at all costs. And relishing the quiet before I've got a weekend full of other people's stuff.
Appearing on tv means nothing after I said no to a potential sleepover. When there are desks to be organized. Hamster cages to be cleaned. English papers to be written.
It's not going to be pretty folks.