My Abyss Month

The definition of “abyss” according to Google is: abyss

That is what January is to me.

Everyone has that one month of the year that it is extremely difficult for them to get through. Mine is January. I hate January. The only holiday is New Years Day, which is on the first day of the month and it isn’t even that great. Since I live in NY, January is cold, snowy, damp, and dark.

I feel like January is endless. It feels like my abyss. I can never see the end of the month until I’m there on the 31st.

Back in 2012 January became the worst month of my life and I will still attest to that month containing some of the worst and most painful days that I have ever been through. Every January gets harder for me. I’m reminded of all the bad that happened and I get a ridiculously large case of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD).


On January 1st I always feel like I’m balancing on my toes staring into a dark hole. February 1st comes along and it almost feels like a breath of fresh air, like I’ve been holding my breath for 31 days – just waiting for something bad to happen.

February is here and I feel like I can focus more on my graduate school work, look forward to spring, and feel a little lighter even though we are still in winter.

The image above is of Guillaume Nery base jumping at Dean’s Blue Hole. The video below is of his dive and it is amazing and terrifying all at the same time.


Bronchitis In Amish Country

As many of you know, I have been sick. I went to see my doctor on Thursday morning and I found out that it wasn’t allergies, or a cold, or even a sinus infection. I have bronchitis.

When I get sick. I get whiny. When I get really sick… I get so whiny that people want to punch me in the face (just ask my best friend, I’m really surprised she hasn’t killed me yet).

Now I had Friday-Sunday off. I should have been able to relax, heal, sleep, feel better, overdose on NyQuil. But no. I had plans.

I went to Amish Country. Lancaster, PA to be exact. With my mother. There was no relaxing. None. Nada. Zilch.


This would be a good time to point out that I am actually scared of Amish people. I don’t know why. I just am.

Now every year my parents go to Lancaster for their anniversary. Unfortunately, my Dad’s sub at work quit so he has to work 6 days a week and can’t take any days off. Therefore he could not go on this trip. So I got to go on my parents’ anniversary trip with my mother. It’s times like this where I swear my life could be a terrible sitcom. Just terrible.

Mom’s not so good on the driving – so I drove. Mom loves antiquing – we did a lot of antique shopping. Mom loves soft pretzels – well so do I so there wasn’t a problem there. Mom loves primitive crafts – we stopped at 5 stores (on top of the 6 antique places we went to… in just one day). Mom has bad arthritis – I had to carry every single multiple purchase. Mom loves Celine Dion – we listened to a lot of Celine Dion. Mom loves Amish people – we had to wake up at 7am on a Friday to go on an Amish bus tour with elderly people and this random family from Brooklyn with small child that sucked on his seat and licked the window.

Lets not forget though, that I have bronchitis. Lots of coughing, lots of nose blowing, lots of meds, lots of headaches… etc…

My  mother and I don’t always get along. Because we are REALLY similar (which is surprising, since I’ve tried my whole life not to be like my parents). We can fight. And pick on each other. My mother also forgets that I have very modern tastes. So antiquing… Looking at old stuff that people have for sale, that’s dirty, and you don’t know who owned it… Kind of grosses me out.

And why do you have to be quiet in antique shops? When did that become a rule? Just because it’s mostly old ladies and quiet women does not mean that I HAVE TO BE QUIET! I am loud. So I cough loud. And I clear my throat loud. And if I’m made to be antique shopping by my mother, GOSH DARN IT, I will be loud! So don’t look at me funny, or sigh, or glare, or stare, or what not. You old ladies can stuff it! I will be loud in antique shops! Or you can just throw me out!

And why do Amish people ask for tips so much? Yes I know, everything you bake/cook is delicious, and due to your weird belief system you have weird/odd jobs. But if I buy your dang soft pretzel, don’t stare at your tip jar. I’m not gonna put anything in it. If I bought a soft pretzel from a vendor at a baseball game I wouldn’t tip him. You and your soft pretzel making talents are not special to me. I will eat almost any soft pretzel. How dare you try to make me feel guilty about NOT tipping you.

Why do antique shops always have a plethora of horrifyingly creepy dolls that are ALWAYS missing some sort of body part or all of their clothing? Who is going to buy that? What kind of sick freak goes to each antique shop looking for that type of doll? They should be arrested.

Why do all Amish children wave at you when you drive past? I felt like I was in a freakin parade. Stop it. I don’t like strangers and you and your black monotone colored clothes made me sad and uncomfortable and you make me think a lot about how I would live without an iPhone. I don’t like those thoughts. I love my iPhone.

Why do Amish children never wear shoes? Do they have shoes? Don’t their feet get dirty? What if you stepped on a bee!!!!???

Fun times.

I ate a lot of soft pretzels.

I Am Pathetic… and Selfish

So I just wanted to share how pathetic and selfish I am.

As most of you know… I am sick!

Currently I cannot smell or taste anything. And this makes me miserable because I love food… A lot.

So here comes the sad/pathetic/selfish/crazy part:

I had amazing leftover Chinese food in the fridge from Thursday night. And I knew that if I left it in the fridge for one more night that someone else (my dad) was going to eat it. So even though I can’t taste or smell anything… I ate it. I didn’t even enjoy it. But just the thought of someone else (my own father) enjoying it didn’t seem fair to me. So I ate it. And I didn’t taste any of it.

I’m a bad person.

Are You Pregnant?

“Awwww…. When are you due?” -person I was checking out at Old Navy 2 years ago.

“Due?” – Me

“Are you pregnant?” -person I now hate

“No.” – Me

“Oh, I’m sorry! You just have that glow.” -worst person in the world

“Right.” – Me


“Are you having a boy or a girl?” – person I was checking books out to 3 years ago at a library

“Excuse me?” – Me

“Oh, aren’t you pregnant?” – mean mean person

“No.” – Me

“Well! You just… have that look.” – terrible evil person

“Right.” – Me


“Did you get yourself knocked up?” – homeless lady I was helping at the library 3 months ago

“No.” – Me

“So you’re just fat?” – homeless lady

“Yep, just fat.” – Me

“That’s funny.” – homeless lady


“Can I ask? Are you pregnant?” – random person shopping at Old Navy 3 years ago

“No, I’m not.” – Me

“Really?” – bewildered person

“Yep, not pregnant.” – Me

“Huh… You just have that look ya know? A maternal look.” – awful horrible person

“Right.” – Me


These are just a few of the lovely examples of what happens to me every couple of months. Now I’ve talked before about my body image. I’m not skinny. I’m chubby. And I do have a tummy. And it pooches out just enough that I’m sure if I’m wearing the right clothes, standing in the right light, and leaning to the left with my hands on my hips – I look pregnant. I must stand like this a lot because I get asked a lot if I’m with child.

And the funny thing is, that everyone who has been SO BOLD to come up and ask me is SO GENUINELY surprised when they are wrong. How sure can you be? I mean even if I was pregnant, at the size I am I might MIGHT might be at like 3 or 4 – ish months. That’s pretty brave (stupid) to come to someone and be confident (stupid) enough to ask. It boggles my mind, because I have never NEVER EVER ever asked a woman that. Even if she was currently in labor I would not ask a woman that. You just don’t ask.


And that whole “maternal look” and “glow” crap is just a way to cover your butt when you realized you’ve screwed up big time. Really a “glow” – maybe my makeup was shiny, or I could be sweaty, or I have oily skin for goodness sake, or I have a sunburn, a rash, I’m blushing! And “maternal look” – I don’t have a maternal bone in my body! I don’t even know if I want to have kids because I am an incredibly insane, irrational, selfish, and sarcastic person. I would definitely be cursed with a child just like myself and I was a terrible child (still am).

Now I know, at my age, it is VERY reasonable to be married with kids. Most of my friends are married and have kids or are expecting soon. But I have a different life plan for right now. Staying single and not getting pregnant.


So please. Never ask a girl if she’s pregnant. NEVER EVER.

Broken Dreams

I’m talking literally here.

Because I have these weird recurring dreams where I break most of the bones in my body… Is that normal? Anyone else? Ok, nope just me.


So here’s the thing. I’ve only ever broken a bone once. Once in my entire life. And I was a fairly active child and teenager. I just never did anything risky.

But one night (I only remember that it was the fall semester) during my sophomore year in college I broke the top of my foot. That’s right… You read that right. Just the TOP of my foot. And simply because I’m a klutz. I was ironing my clothes (I was a weirdo in college and would pick out my outfit the night before and iron it) and I got distracted by one of my roommates (the annoying one – her name was Paula – I have no fear if she reads this!). I went to grab something for her (because she was super needy!) and I tripped over the cord of the iron. Mind you, the iron was hot. It landed point down on the top of my foot – breaking it – and then landed flat on the top of my foot – burning it. It was a great night. It was also one of the first nights I ever said a swear word out loud… very loudly.


But I didn’t go to the doctors. I hate doctors and hospitals and they frighten me. So I pretty much dragged my swollen foot around campus for a week. I could only wear this one pair of flats that were too big for me because nothing else fit my huge foot. Eventually my best friend (nursing student) convinced me to go to the “on campus clinic” (the biggest joke for health care). By that time my foot had started to heal itself and they would need to re-break it to set it right. I hobbled out of there pretty quickly. So now the top of my foot is sort of pointy-ish. And when my foot gets cold there is a slight ‘x’ shaped scar on top of it. Pretty cool right… Nope. Not at all.

Anyways back to the dreams.

I keep having these different dreams that I’m either in a car accident, or someone pushes me and I fall over, etc, etc, and I break several bones. And no one cares. Not a single person cares that I have broken bones. They all just expect me to get on with my work and driving and chores and what not.


Now I don’t know if this is because of my fear of hospitals, my fear of breaking something, or my fear of still being on my parents’ health insurance and it’s going to run out in 2 years and what happens if I do break a bone and I can’t pay for it, or what not… But I hate these dreams.

What’s worse is that I’ll wake up with phantom pains! I’ll have a dream that I got pushed or whatnot and broke my leg and I’ll wake up and my leg will be hurting. And I can’t figure out if I had the dream because my leg hurt, or my leg hurts because I had the dream.

Maybe I’m just crazy or a wuss.

Or maybe I just need to really break a bone and get it over with.


Hopefully… Not that bone!