I feel the Zoloft starting to bring me back out of my slump. It is funny – you go from taking it every day like a good boy and then every other day and then you forget it once or twice and then you notice that you aren’t taking it at all but you’ll take it tomorrow, it’s already too late today to take it. It’s like walking on solid ground that gets a little wet and starts to turn to mud – but very slowly so you don’t notice until your knee deep and can barely move. Sometimes it makes me very depressed knowing that I’m not hard-wired for contentment. That my tendency is towards malaise. But wah-wah-wah, right?
Had a very surprising weekend. Brigitte and Karen and I are coming back from Ikea and Ron calls and says that we are flying to San Francisco in three hours to go his friend Ferdi’s birthday party. I was a little displeased because I’d already told him that I couldn’t go to San Francisco this weekend and to go without me, but there he was saying ‘you’re gonna be mad at me, but I booked us on a flight.’ I finally agreed to go and had all of an hour to get back home and pack some stuff and get in a taxi to O’Hare. Part of me was livid and I knew that no matter what I had to have my say about how this was done. I get in the taxi and Ron asks if I’m mad at him. I tell him that I’m sure that by the end of the weekend I’ll be so glad and happy that I came and that I had a great time but to surprise this on me at the last minute – even after I’d told him I didn’t want to go – to steamroll my plans and my schedule and commit me anyway was out of line. I tried to frame it as succinctly as possible. You don’t tell someone with panic attacks that they’re flying cross-country with 2 hours notice. Usually I would just suck it up and go and be bitter for a while – but I decided I had to make sure that I said what I felt. And I did. Once i took a nap on the plane I felt a lot better and we had a good time. I have to start calling people on it when they over-step a boundary or I’m doomed to be taken advantage of. I hated the way I felt though – why can’t I just go with the flow and have a good time – why is part of me always so anti-fun and anti-spontaneous? Why do I have to have this mini-fit? I felt awful having to even have this discussion. But I think I would have stewed the whole weekend if I hadn’t. Anyway – after the party we went to a club called NTouch – a gay asian dance club. It was jarring to be the racial minority in the crowd – a healthy taste of medicine, methinks (but nowhere near a proper dosage…). We danced for about two hours and then retired to a hotel room that Ferdi had rented for his revelers. I was the only caucasian for most of the weekend – and over half of all conversation was in Tagalog (gotta hit that phrasebook!). The flight home rocked – we got first class on United. I think it is just hysterical that people expect these kinds of services on a flight – and that it’s provided.