12 posts tagged “anxiety”
No, I haven't been on vacation all this time. I've been back for some time now. Long enough for much of the good to be undone. I woke up this morning in the midst of a (boring, but weird) nightmare in which I was forced to live in a sort of dormitory style barrack with my co-workers.
When will I get back to New York?
Tomorrow I must finish my tax returns. The Federal one is done, but having to fill out a NY State return (fool that I was not to leave my last job exactly before the end of 2007; having received a single paycheck in 2008 from a NY source has created all sorts of complications), has made me somewhat less nostalgic for the Empire State. I will be glad to get that particular monkey off my back.
But tonight, Swan Lake. In a rare fit of balletomanic behavior, I exchanged my regular performance ticket for this evening's performance with who else? as Odette/Odile. It's too bad that I have reached the point where I do not have the money, and, in this case, the time to take in multiple performances.
I am equal parts euphoric and anxious about my upcoming trip to NYC. Eager to go, but feeling quite tense about how I'm ever going to be able to cram in half of the things I want to do (and keep up my energy to do so). Still, I feel better having connected with a few friends over the past couple of days and made some at least tentative plans. MBF is attempting to pick up some tickets for a few NYCB performances even as I bang away at this keyboard.
I'm a bit disappointed at the ballet programming, or, not so much the programs themselves this time, but the repetitiveness (i.e. not only the same program, but the same cast each time). I probably will only be able to go two performances. It seems more worthwhile at this point to use the rest of the time to do other things rather than sitting through the same thing more than once. But we shall see. It looks as if NYCB is moving away from the dreaded "block programming" in its spring schedule.
Meanwhile, I will be going to the ballet here again tonight. Same program as last week, but with an entirely different cast. The PNB production of Jewels even has drawn the (favorable) attention of the New York Times. I'll wait until I've had a chance to see this other cast to compare/share notes.
The latest post on the PNB Director's Blog pretty well summarizes many of my own thoughts and feelings about last week's Emeralds coaching session/lecture demonstration, so I'll just include it here rather than do the heavy slogging. It was exciting to be that close to the dancers as they were working. At one point Ariana Lallone and Karel Cruz (doing the Mimi Paul/Francisco Moncion pas de deux) passed by and the rustle of her skirt, etc. felt very otherworldly -- as if the dinosaur exhibit at the Museum of Natural History had come to life. I also enjoyed Mimi Paul's anecdote about Balanchine offering her a choice of music for her variation, but she chose the first piece, after listening to only a few bars, without even hearing the other because it was familiar to her from a morning radio program. I think it must have been WQXR, which my father always listens to. I don't think they use that same piece of music anymore (Faure's Shylock?) or even have the same morning program (and certainly not the same announcer). I remember hearing the program though, many years later, after having become familiar with the ballet, and thinking that Balanchine's work may have brought it to prominence, but it's interesting to see that wasn't the case at all.
Life resumed its thuddingly routine dimension immediately after the inauguration euphoria. I was in an awful mood yesterday and felt evil. I think I picked up something either from the communal viewing of the inauguration or the (mild) partying with co-workers after work. I'mstill trying to fight it off. I feel a bit better today, but yesterday I felt horrible, with sore throat and chills in the evening. My dire physical condition was probably compounded by my predictable pre-conference panic attack. I think I'm over that bit by now; hopefully the flu or whatever it was will keep at bay.
Denver in January?
Being aware that one's behavior and moods can fall into certain fairly predictable patterns doesn't make it any easier to circumvent those feelings. For example, I am never more excited and happy about making a trip than immediately after I book it. The closer the actual departure date becomes, the more anxious and depressed I get about it. That old my term paper is due tomorrow feeling of stress steals over me. But why? What immensely important thing is there that I could forget about or fail to do before I leave would have some enormous impact on my life? Don't answer that!
This weekend on my end I have been short tempered and cross. Annoying things have been happening. From the relatively trivial (such as the lid spontaneously popping off my organic free trade latte, causing a minor spill) to the more intrusive. I received my first text message spam the other day, although I couldn't figure out the intent. It certainly wasn't intended to sell me something, but was it done deliberately to annoy? I chalked up the first one, which just said, "yo" as a misdirected communication, but after receiving another one the next day from the same phone number with another equally brief, but more meaningless message I became suspicious and irritated. Then today, I got a longer, creepier one from the same number. I searched my provider's Web site for information about how to block specific numbers, but found no guidance. I was going to send an e-mail inquiry, but felt like I wanted a more immediate response. Spent the next fifteen minutes or so trying to work my way through the most aggravating telephone tree ever before finally getting through to a live "advisor," who, most likely, was in a call center in some other country. Anyway, the person claimed to have gone ahead and put a block on messages from that particular number, but refused to credit my account for the amount that was deducted for having to view the stupid messages or give me any kind of confirmation number or direct access number for customer service should I receive another unwanted text message.
So now I am obligated to send in an e-mail complaint about the company's shoddy customer service? Why do we have to spend so much time and energy on crap like this?
Meanwhile, back in New York, my boyfriend reported a situation with a drunk in the hallway of our apartment building in the early morning hours yesterday. This morning apparently there was a repeat of the same type of plumbing incident I blogged about over a year ago. How could the thing break down again in less than two years? And I want to hang onto this apartment?
I do need to make some progress on tidying up around the apartment in preparation for The Master's arrival next week, but my horoscope advises me to put off dreary chores for another day. "Get out and treat yourself to some fun this afternoon!" it exhorts.
Sounds like a good idea. Especially as it promises to be one of those increasingly rare good weather days. I'll head out as soon I finish balancing my checkbook -- an especial necessity since I have my main account at that bank that just failed. I feel betrayed and the company that bought them out sucks even more, so I want to remove my money pronto, but then inertia sinks in. There is a branch so convenient to where I live. I'd have to set up a new direct deposit authorization at work. Blah blah blah. Yes, I am the Queen of Rationalization.
And shit, I forgot the rent is due soon. I can't believe this month is almost over already.
I need to get out more.
Are there really such things as coincidences? Tonight I am going to see the local "All Robbins" program at the ballet, which features Fancy Free. While I understand the historic significance of this work, frankly I never have been able to enjoy it. I've been reading the Deborah Jowitt biography of Robbins (mainly at home or when I don't have to lug it a great distance), hoping to jump start my appreciation. But I doubt it will make any difference.
At work, I was handed something to catalog that turned out to be a set of WWII era letters written to a (presumably) young woman back on the homefront from various friends and boyfriends while they were going through training just prior to being shipped off to war. I was pleased to be able to track down some vital statistics about some of the "ordinary" people involved with minimal effort. I felt like I hit a stumbling block, however, when it came down to the part where I had to come up with one sentence that effectively summarizes and characterizes the content of the collection. A lot of my colleagues seem to skip over this part entirely or make a really lousy job of it. An earlier description of the letters I was trying to incorporate into my own was so vague as to be laughable. What struck me in my reading was how true to the movies and other artifacts of popular culture the tone of letters seemed. Was this girl as racy, yet "nice" as the Betty Hutton character in The Miracle of Morgan's Creek (or the girls in Fancy Free)? Although the contents of the letters themselves were not super interesting, the very awkwardness with which these guys tentatively tried to express their boredom, anxiety, and fears to a girl most of them probably did not know all that well certainly was poignant. How do I render that in "neutral" language? Maybe Fancy Free will provide some inspiration after all.
Or should I even be bothering? Yesterday I received the latest issue of our weighty professional journal and came across an article in which one of our young(ish) lions (MEOW) was sagely advising his fellow archivists that we all need "to begin moving away from the idea of finding aids as finely crafted narrative documents and toward recognizing them as tools that consist of distinct data elements." I say, "fuck that shit!" But how to craft a more "professional" response?
Looks as if yesterday really marked the conclusion of my holiday mode. I can see that I will have to spend the bulk of my time over the next week sorting through the detritus of my life (both literally and figuratively), packing and tossing stuff out.
Not a cheery prospect. Makes London seem even more distant.
As to the trip itself, I had a really good time. Though apparently my idea of a good time consists of going to the theatre, wandering around museums, and taking long, long walks. Unfortunately, when you go for a short time and want to check back in with some old faves, it lessens the possibilities of new discoveries. I was a little disappointed in myself that I wound up scarcely venturing outside of the West End (and even that mainly owing to the fact that I was staying up in Hampstead). Still, despite my being there for only five nights, I did manage to attend three plays and one dance performance.
On the whole, I was very lucky with last minute theatre tickets. I got standing room on the morning of my arrival for the evening performance of Much Ado About Nothing at the National Theatre, which, being a long time fan of Zoë Wanamaker, was a must. It got the whole day (and journey) off to a good start. I didn't hold out much hope of getting into the much-hyped and sold out production of Othello at the Donmar Warehouse, but I decided to scope out the queue on my second morning with the thought of trying to get in the next day when I was due to meet up with a friend for pre-theatre drinks and supper (she had tickets to a different show). After heading out later than I expected, I swung by the Donmar about five minutes before the box office was due to open. The line was out the door, with about forty or so people. It looked quite hopeless, but I figured what the hell, see what happens. I ended up getting the last standing room ticket when the woman in front of me bizarrely rejected it (did she really think she was going to get an actual seat at that point?)! A spontaneous change in plans. Both productions were excellent.
My luck did not hold for my final attempts at getting day seats on my last day in London. I don't know why, but probably because *I* had never heard of it, I assumed that getting into War Horse at the National on a Saturday should be a cinch. When I got there (late, already about forty minutes after the box office was supposed to open), there was an enormous, slow-moving queue. I should have just left immediately, but staying the fifteen minutes or so it took before they announced that all seats and standing room had been sold, allowed me to witness yet again the ugly side of human nature. Some little (American, sigh) turd was trying to scalp an extra day seat he had bought to possible takers at the back of the line at the full price for that section. At first people were reluctant (though probably because it was only a single ticket), but I could hear him whining that he had gotten there at six in the morning and deserved some sort of compensation for his efforts. I suppose we were meant to be grateful that he wasn't really jacking up the price even more. Pretty soon, a woman (probably also an American, or, more likely, a shifty Canadian) succumbed to the offer. I should have dragged their sorry asses over to security. Moral and (probably unwarranted) physical cowardice on my part. At any rate, I was able to get a ticket at the half-price ticket booth to an interesting revival of Edward Bond's The Sea (which another friend had recommended, in spite of its three, count 'em, three, extended monologues) later in the day.
And I suppose it could be regarded as unlucky that I was able to get a very last minute ticket to the Rambert Dance Company's new choreography program at the Southbank Centre on Friday (after my day's outing to Ely). I did want to see some dance, but there was not all that much going on. The one Royal Ballet program that was scheduled during my stay was a matinee and featured Chroma (which I was somewhat curious to see), but two other pieces I really did not care to see at all. I refuse to attend another performance of La La La Human Steps (more of my staunch anti-Canadian bias). I was finally sold on the Rambert because it promised live music. I was able to get quite a good seat, close to the stage (it may have been a returned comp because I seemed surrounded by beautiful people). While I can't say that the pieces necessarily got progressively worse as the evening went on, the first up, Phantasy, an ensemble number by Mikaela Polley, was far and away the most enjoyable. What I hadn't realized was that the program also included the topical Meltdown, a piece by Hubert Essakow allegedly about the Tragedy of Britney Spears. Sadly, it was about what you might expect, complete with pretentious quote in the program from William Blake ('Can I see another's woe, and not be in sorrow too? Can I see another's grief and not seek for kind relief?'). Oy.
Weirdest possible celebrity sighting. I was convinced that I saw Woody Allen at a Pret a Manger near Covent Garden where I was meeting a friend (I was very glad she distinctly spelled out which Pret she meant). I mean it really looked like him. But what's the odds the Woodman would be in a Pret on the Strand at 5:00 reading the londonpaper?
Arrived back in NYC very late Sunday night (actually it was technically very early Monday morning by the time that I reached my doorstep). Yesterday my mother asked me if I was “back to New York time.” I don’t know what kind of time I’m on. It feels more like borrowed time. I am very disorganized and all over the place.
I did manage to get some sleep on Monday, but since then I have been waking up at the same ungodly hour that my partner gets ready for work, just lying in bed trying to get back asleep, but bothered by my little brain whirring away. Worrying about all there is to do, but, aside from some frantic pretense at scurrying around during the day, doing very little about it all.
Amusingly, the in-flight magazine on the plane carried a
typically fatuous story about yet another ailment for the over privileged: a
condition known as the Post Vacation Blues (PVBs)—the inevitable letdown upon
returning to work after a vacation.
Their prescription: more frequent long weekend vacations (unsurprising
advice, coming from an airline).
These so-called PVBs are magnified when you are trying to tackle the chaos of “planning” a long-distance move, dealing with a probable separation from your spouse for a still indefinite amount of time, and confronting the anxiety of starting a new job, all of which is supposed to happen in the space of less than two weeks.
Maybe I will just go back to bed now.
More about the trip to London itself (which was highly enjoyable) in a future post.
Ugh, I hate that phrase. That, along with some even choicer nuggets of management speak, never had been part of my consciousness until fairly recently. They will never become part of my vocabulary.
But the silly expression keeps popping into my head now that I have about three hundred things at once that I need to be doing. My general approach has been one of avoidance. Don't tackle the easiest one first. Don't attempt the most difficult one. Pick the most inconsequential task. Complete it. Congratulate yourself mightily over accomplishing it and sink back into a swirl of lethargy and anxiety.
I'm looking forward tonight. I'll be attending a performance of Ice Theatre of New York. I haven't seen live figure skating in quite a while. Hopefully it won't be as tacky as some of these productions can be. The lure is the recreation of After All (1976), an exhibition piece created by Twyla Tharp for John Curry in his championship season. Though how can a 40 year old skater (physical resemblance in body type, notwithstanding) today pull off a piece that the peerless Curry performed at the height of his virtuosity? It's still fairly mild out today, but I brought along a sweater for the Sky Rink since the nice lady who sold me the tickets advised me to "dress warm."
It promises to be an eclectic weekend. Tomorrow I'm supposed to see the Kálmán Balogh Gypsy Cimbalom Band at Symphony Space. And I caved when some ABT tickets became available for Sunday's matinee. Should be an interesting program: Ballo della Regina with the unfamiliar Yuriko Kajiya and Herman Cornejo (in a rare showing as a danseur), the new Milliepied work, and Agnes De Mille's Fall River Legend (with the not well known for her dramatic ability, Michele Wiles as Lizzie Borden). I haven't been keeping up with the reviews.
