kaet@rachacha.com
April 06, 2007

Getting lost in the city of perpetual motion is no easy task. I try to do so as frequently as possible to counterbalance the constant mundaneness of my life. Living in New York, it's hard to be spontaneous. Your life, like in any other city that isn't constantly moving, is just a routine. On Sunday, I got lost, after buying a new Polaroid camera (to replace the old one that broke after three months), in the Upper West Side and then the Upper East Side, while trying to find a bar that my roommate's boyfriend is a fan of. On Monday, Sarah and I planned a mini trip to Coney Island where we rode the Cyclone, because unfortunately, this is Astroland's last season. But I'm having a problem, after this weekend; maybe it's my job, maybe it's residual exhaustion from the flu, but besides to and from work, I can't leave the apartment.

It started Tuesday. I was going to go see my favorite comedy duo, The Rob and Mark Show, as they have a residence at Rififi this month. Laundry, preparing for the art show in a few weeks, and lethargy stopped me. I wanted to dance on bars, get trashed and stumble into work the next day. I wanted a reason to be mean to my customers, but no, I stayed at home. Wednesday, my laundry was assembled, and as soon as I got home from work at 3 o'clock, I was ready. I took it in, I waited, I booked another art show, I talked on the phone with my sister, life was great! I was going to go to Rififi again that night. I had a lace dress of Becca's I wanted to show off and tell more dumb jokes because for some reason I think I'm on a path to being a comedian. And then it happened.

I have anxiety. I obsess about things, I think my cat is plotting against me, I fear Becca thinks I have smelly feet, I know Sarah ate the half eaten goat cheese in the fridge, (I know you did it, don't deny it!), and who the hell knows what Genevieve (Becca's cat) is going to do to my clothes when I'm sleeping. I've always been like this; it's not really a problem. But the it I'm referring to is a panic attack. Kaet's panic attacks go like this, "Where the hell am I? Why am I in New York? Who are these people? How did I get here? Oh God, here we go!" And then I can't breathe, and blah blah blah. I then become possessed by the devil, yes, the devil. He's like, "oh hey there, I'm going to make sure you look and feel like a turrets catatonic while you're itching for some smack." And the worse of it all, is that I feel like I'm on drugs, but I'm not.

I haven't really been out in over a week now, and I want to. I look at my new bible - Time Out New York - and I'm like, "oh yeah, totally want to see Craig Wedren tonight, oh hey, there's free booze at this reading in Brooklyn, maybe I'll go see Wild Hogs." But I can't. I'm finding excuses not to go out, justifying to myself something I've tried hard to overcome, letting fear control me. I'm the girl who at the end of the world will throw a party! I'm the girl who dances on bars! I'm the girl who met a quasi famous celebrity while intoxicated and shamelessly (and regrettably) made a performance piece out of it! This is not me!

Life is a rollercoaster, much like the Cyclone at Astroland. It has ups and downs, and sometimes mediocre columns due to stress, panic attacks and Sarah's late night whiskey induced, blog writing benders. Okay, Sarah, I get it, you like a Brooklyn blogger, he's gone, he'll never be back! I don't know how long this will last, I don't know if it's going to be worth it to let life pass me by. Life is about pressing on, doing crap, not letting things get in your way as you race along the tracks of impossibility and history that will eventually be torn down to make condos, and that's just not cool.