the eyes of pink

(not to be confused with "The Ides of March"...oh I do crack myself up with lame jokes...)

Being sick in New York City is NOT fun. Not one bit. Granted, being sick anywhere is not that fun. And, as always, I am fully aware of the sufferings of others, and I am knowledgeable of my absence of suffering in comparison. I am often hesitant to complain in fear that my listeners/readers will think I believe myself to be the bearer of all that is bad in the world, but hopefully I do not give off that impression and am safe to complain a little here. I would not be so afraid of this, perhaps, if I didn't know people who gave off that impression themselves. Anyway, enough excuses and self-deprecation (aside from Grace, those just may be my other middle names), and let's get down to it.

I blame to flight from Milwaukee to NYC for the beginnings of my current ailments. But I could be wrong. Anyway, all week I'd been suffering from cold/cough/slight fever and my LEAST favorite ailment, the loss of normal voice (I have a singing audition Monday, so I care a little more at the moment). I had a rehearsal for a play reading on Friday night and I felt like I was going to collapse, followed by a few very strong reasons to believe I had pink eye. I won't get into detail, you can use your imagination. Or don't, actually. So yesterday I decided to go to the "after-hours care" at this Brooklyn health facility I've been to (when I should REALLY find a regular doctor...), and was there from 12pm to 4pm. Probably 15 minutes of that was spent with the doctor, and the rest was waiting. While it was frustrating to wait that long, don't get me wrong, it must also be remembered that there was only one doctor and a first come first serve basis. What was most frustrating were the people literally yelling at the nurses and doctors about how long it was taking, and saying that the doctor was "probably taking his time on purpose to make [them] suffer." Yes, that's probably what he was doing. WHAT? They be trippin', surrrriously. Along with the crying children, that place was a treat in which to spend four hours of my day. Anyway, after picking up my eye-drops and other meds (yes, both eyes are infected with the pink), a looong wait for the bus-ride home (but worth it, as it drops me off nearly at my front door), a shower, some tears, and mom texting, it was time to relax. Which is what I've been doing since then, and slowly but surely feeling better. Getting along with just my glasses and no contacts for a week is not ideal, but whatever. I just want all this cough/cold/fever crap to go away. Please?

So yes, being sick anywhere is tough, I think just the added stress of public transportation whilst being sick makes it seem more extreme. You can't just get in the car and go to the doctor, you have to walk to the train/bus, wait for it, ride with a lot of people who probably don't want to get coughed or sneezed on, walk to the doctors office, wait with loud crazy people, take public transit to the pharmacy, and then take it again back home. When I'm sick, I don't want to deal with anyone. And I'm sure no one wants to deal with me. I look and feel awful, and I'd rather be a hermit.

Maybe the worst part, for me, is that it reminds me of how far I am from home. Along with the fact that I just got back from a pretty decent amount of time at home, I'm feeling the homesickness pretty hard. My mom and I always joke about it being too bad that our family doesn't hate each other, that we didn't grow up in such a comfortable and loving household, because it makes it harder to leave the nest. While mostly a joke, there are times when there is a slight seriousness to the subject. In many ways I have always been adventurous and eager to explore the next part of life; however, deep in my nature, I am definitely a home-body. I remember being homesick in college - there was one time, on a Fall Break trip to Chicago with some friends, when I had a friend take me home before the trip was over so I could have some extra time at home. I was always tearful when returning to campus after a break. I've been thinking about the reasons I was able to survive the homesickness in college, and I've come up with:

1. There were designated times for me to come home, usually every two or three months.

2. College was still a time when my life was organized by a schedule, one that I alone didn't control. I controlled some of it, but the world of academics and activities was broader and bigger than me. I could lean on it, use it for support. I was still in a stage of life where I was following the comfort of a schedule.

I don't know what it is about me that makes me so aware of the passage of time, of the slipping away of the old and familiar. It's not like it's drastic. And it's not like the past didn't have its downs as well as its ups. I have learned a lot, I have met fantastic people - if time stopped I wouldn't have the pleasure of what is to come - because eventually, I will miss that too. My life is in a perpetual state of missing everything the moment after I've come to love it. Perhaps I need to accept that about myself and learn how to use it to strengthen my life rather than using it to occasionally deprecate the present.

Helen Keller once said:

"When one door of happiness closes, another opens; but often we look so long at the closed door that we do not see the one which has been opened for us."

One of my journals has that quote printed on the front, and it has always stayed with me, because I feel like I do that - I look at the closed doors for a long time. I don't think I ever completely look away. And not all of the doors are closed completely, of course. The door of childhood, perhaps, yes. But the door of my family and friends, not really. I take complete delight in the development of relationships, both with family and friends, as we grow and change. I love my siblings in their young adult forms. I love my relationship with my parents as I step further into adulthood. I love the friends I've had for years and the friends I am just beginning to make. There is so much beauty in the past, present, and future, I just feel like it's too big for me to hold on to all of it and I don't want to let any of it go.

My mom has been playing a handful of CDs in our house for years, I can't even remember how long some of this music has been in the background of my life. Most of it is instrumental, mostly new-age piano, harp, strings, etc. I did this brilliant and stupid thing when I was home and put all of those CDs onto my computer so I could listen to them all the time. I don't think I've had anything else playing on my iTunes or iPod since I got back. And while it's completely lovely to have this music with me all the time now, it hasn't really helped my nostalgic issues. Especially when I am sitting in my apartment feeling sick and wishing that my mom could be here taking care of me. When I was home last week, my sister and I were discussing the excitement of growing up paired with the wish that we never would. Wanting to see what the future holds, yet wanting to stay young forever. Such a juxtaposition of feelings.

This entry has been all over the place. Much like my mind, I guess. Musings of my insanity. I could blame it on the pink eye, but we all know that's not true, haha.

[amanda]