Living Alone: My Lessons after Twelve Days

I was sitting at work this morning (because where else would I be these days?) and I came up with a great idea for a blog post. After reaching for my planner, I realized I had left it at home. I could have used a sticky note. Or put it on my Evernote app. Or emailed it to myself. But I thought, “No. This is a good one. I’ll remember it.” Four hours later, I can’t remember a damn thing. Only that it was good. This doesn’t surprise me. It just pisses me off a bit. 

I’m happy to report that I was able to pack up all of my belongings, move them about 30 miles south, then unpack them. It was a hectic weekend. It took about three trips to get it all done, because I grossly underestimated my possessions. “Twenty-five boxes? I don’t have twenty-five boxes worth of things.” Turns out I have about fifty boxes worth of things, not including the large pieces of furniture. When I finally started packing, my box supply ran out fairly quickly. One trip was not going to cut it. 

Photo-bombing teddy bear FTW

Photo-Bombing Teddy Bear & Awkwardly-Placed Tree FTW

I won’t bore you with the story of moving, because it’s exactly what every story of moving is: so many boxes, so many stairs, bulky furniture and doors almost too small. My variation on this story included a half-dozen or so nasty bruises that drew the eye.

“I’m not an abuse victim,” I’d say, noticing someone’s eyes on my arms. “I just moved over the weekend.” 

Nods were accompanied with a skeptical look. “To where? A fight club headquarters?” 

Now that the bruises have faded and I’ve been in my new place for almost two weeks, I’ve learned a few things: 

Palmolive Passion fruit Plumeria smells like a cheap vodka drink that causes a nasty hangover. It’s holding me back from washing my dishes every day. It was on sale when I was picking up necessities that were adding up quick, so I just grabbed the girliest-looking bottle. Washing dishes the next day, I had flashes of a terrible hangover from freshman year: Fleishmann’s vodka, fruit punch, & pink vomit.

You don't have to be intimidated by my glamorous kitchen. I promise: I put my pants on one leg at a time just like you.

You don’t have to be intimidated by my glamorous kitchen. I promise: I put my pants on one leg at a time just like you.

Of course, I’ll continue washing my dishes with it because everything is expensive. Seriously. I took a look at window dressings. Twenty dollars for a window panel? They know you typically need two, right? That means I have to spend money on blinds (~$10), a curtain rod (~$10), two window panels ($40 apparently), and $30 on decent vodka to drink while I’m putting the damn things up. You’re looking at almost $100 per window! Even without the vodka, $60 to make my windows look like the ones on my Pinterest boards is too much. I’ll just live with the warped and dusty blinds provided by my landlord until I have a pile of money to spend on window hangings. Till then, my money will be eaten by rent, student loans, a credit card, utilities, internet, groceries, and flower pots.  

Oh you know, just hanging out with my plants.

Oh you know, just hanging out with my plants after eating half a cantaloupe.

I’ve also learned that my need for sleep is relative to a roommate’s presence. Living with Carissa last year, I often knew it was time to go to sleep when she was often on her way home from work, around 10:30. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see her or that I was avoiding her, just that I knew if I was still up when she came home, we would end up talking or watching television for an hour. If she went to sleep before me, I didn’t want to disturb her. But now? Bake a cake for my dad’s birthday? It’s only 9pm – why not? Remember while cracking an egg that my roots are dark? I’ll dye my hair while the cake bakes. After showering, I’ll organize my linen closet in a towel while the cake cools. Once it’s frosted, I can just watch five episodes of Friends. Turns out I don’t get tired till about 1am.

On that note, tube TVs are hilarious. Despite the fact I have a list of shows I love, I’m not much of a tv person, so I haven’t felt compelled to drop several hundred dollars on a flat screen. Left to my own devices, I’d rather putz or read a book than sit and watch hours of television. I’ve gotten by just watching shows on my computer or Kindle. But moving into my own place, I thought it would be weird to invite someone over to watch a movie on my laptop. I’m pretty sure that after college, that’s not really allowed. My parents gave me, among many things, an old television. It’s enough to hook up a DVD player and my Roku (though I have to switch one out for the other), so I happily accepted. (Did I mention I’m poor?) After watching a few episodes of Friends, I found that the volume spontaneously crescendos and there is a bluish spot in the upper left corner.  Oh, it also buzzes. Constantly. 

As strange as it was for the first few days, I’m starting to feel at home here. I’m still getting used to the noises of a new neighborhood and the fact that any strange bump in the night cannot be explained by a roommate. It’s probably just a rapist seeing if I lock my doors. If you don’t hear from me for a while, I doubt I’ve been killed – I’m probably just on my couch with a bunch of blankets and pillows, eating Thin Mints for dinner. 

Welcoming Couch wants you to grab a book and relax.

Welcoming Couch wants you to grab a book and just relax.

Happy Pills

I’ve spent the last year or so reflecting on life. In the spring, my two-year relationship came to an end. I spent the summer crying, drinking, and eating too much alone in my apartment. In the fall, I went off the antidepressant I had been on for almost six years. In the winter, I dated casually. In the spring, I started training and ran my first 5k Race. This summer I’m moving into my own apartment. 

The statement you probably want to know the most about is the one regarding my antidepressant. That’s not really what I want to focus on with this post, so I’ll just give you a brief overview: It was easier than I thought. I had withdrawals. Here and there I would have headaches, lethargy, a deep reluctance to get out of bed on grey mornings, and unexplained crying spells cured only by a long hug. Some days could only be explained by calling them Numb Days – days when it was like I forgot how to be alive and all I wanted to do was lie in bed – not cry or sleep, but just lie there. I usually ended up calling Andrea and after twenty minutes of trying to explain myself and crying, she helped me feel like a human again. I don’t know what I would have done without her.

Eventually things got better. My body re-acclimated to its normal bupropion-free state. I started to feel like myself again. It was like the drug had been muting my life. It’s so cliche, but it was like my life had color again. Like I started seeing through the Hefe filter after using only Willow for six years.

All is grey.

Willow: All is grey.

I don’t think I did much self-examination while I was on antidepressants. I was afraid of negative feelings. If I never felt sad, I never had to acknowledge the bad parts of my life. I existed in a bubble of false contentedness. By never truly going through lows, I saved myself from feeling guilt, sorrow, and anger. But I also didn’t experience the bliss of good days. Everything was dulled. 

WUT. Calla Lilies are the color of humid summer sunsets?

Hefe: You mean calla lilies are the color of humid summer sunsets?!

After getting through my first winter without an antidepressant, I’m confident I can get through whatever life throws at me. I’m not advocating that anyone who is on antidepressants (or any other medication) should just stop taking them. I did it with my doctor’s help. I told my family and close friends so I had a support system in place. Though it was sometimes hard, I became more self-aware. I saw how my actions affected my mood, my health, and my relationships.

I guess you could say I commemorated by rediscovery of a vibrant life by tattooing “Everything is blooming” on my wrist. It’s not, as one friend teases, shameless advertising for my blog. It’s a mantra. Sometimes I forget about it. Some days I’m crabby without good reason. Other days I think the world is terrible and humans are jerks. But most days I’m pleased with my life – the shadows as much as the highlights.

…now that I’ve completely focused on what I didn’t want to focus on, I’ll just leave this post. Expect my original idea on Five Ways to Effectively Disappoint People tomorrow.

Stream of Consciousness: Saturday Run

8:24am Holy shit I overslept. Holy shit I am going to be two hours late if I leave in six minutes. Wait. It’s Saturday. I don’t have to be at work. And anyway, I work at 8, so I’d be an hour late. Still, an hour is an hour. Whatever. Okay. What do I want for breakfast?

PANCAKES.

Obviously I want pancakes. But damn. I just want them now. I don’t want to make them. I might as well get up and shower if I’m going to make pancakes. It’s a whole ordeal.

I should get a boyfriend for strictly pancake-making purposes. People do that, right? I can compartmentalize if I want. You’re the one who takes me out to dinners. You’re the one who spoons with me at night but doesn’t get offended when I push you away because holy shit you sweat a lot at night. You’re the one who takes me to exciting cultural things like art galleries and jazz performances. You’re the one who rubs my feet while I watch terrible television like RuPaul’s Drag Race and you don’t even complain or make weird comments because you’re confident in your sexuality. And you? You just make me pancakes in the morning. 

That’d be nice. But that means I have to like, go out and meet people. And people are exhausting. I’m just going to stretch and yawn for a while. Then I’ll get up and make pancakes.

8:36am Good god. I haven’t ran for the last two days. I should really do that. Pancakes are out. But wait. Maybe I could run and then have pancakes. I could burn like 500 calories so then when I eat pancakes, the two just cancel out and I’ll be all, “I didn’t even eat pancakes this weekend! I can still respect myself!”

But look at that. Look at the sun. And I just got these new microfiber sheets. They’re so soft and I should really just enjoy them for a while longer. Plus I got the new David Sedaris book. It’d be like a waste of money to not enjoy that.

IMAG0838-1-1

I’ll just grab my Kindle and read for a while.

9:23am I read David Sedaris so fast. It’s like I don’t even absorb what he’s saying. Which is a shame, because he’s really funny while also being poignant. I’ll have to reread this book when I’m done.

Oh my god. I need to go for a run.

I could maybe wait till later. But the afternoon sun will be out and it will be warm and I’ll sweat. And I’m supposed to meet up with my friends for dinner tonight, but I don’t know when that is. I should just get it over with now. Plus if I go in the morning, they say my metabolism will be higher for the rest of the day. I don’t know who they are, but whatever, that’s a really cliche thought. Maybe if I look on Pinterest I’ll get inspired to run.

9:30am Okay, I will only look at my 5k board because that’s where my inspiration will be. Otherwise I’ll spend the whole morning getting sucked into Pinterest’s black hole of negative productivity.

There’s that pin about things to eat before workouts. Maybe I should look at it. I never did when I pinned it.

Oh. Toast with peanut butter and bananas does look good. Better than pancakes, actually. I’ll make that.

9:36am omigosh this is so good. I need to get a boyfriend to just make me toast with peanut butter and banana.

Now I need to let this digest. I don’t want sideaches. But I’ll start getting dressed, because otherwise I’ll just be in bed all morning.

Let’s see what RunKeeper has me doing today.

A 50 minute run? WHAT THE HELL, RUNKEEPER? Fifty damn minutes? I was hoping for one of those awesome interval runs that’s only 26 minutes long. I actually like those. I get to walk half the time without feeling guilty.

Ugh. Fine, RunKeeper. I’ll do your damn run. But only because I get to wear neon socks. Also, I don’t want to be the last finisher at my race next weekend.

IMAG0841

Whoa. Next weekend? I should just accept it. I’ll probably be the last finisher. Maybe I’ll get a prize.

Okay, let’s drink some water. I’m dehydrated just thinking about this damn 50 minute run. UGH.

IdontwannadothisIdontwannadothisIdontwannadothisIdontwannadothis

9:50am Hey! I used to not wear these workout pants because whenever I’d run they’d slide down and accentuate my love handles. Daay-umm. Running looks good on me.

IMAG0842

My boobs are squished. I hate sports bras. They’re the worst. Seriously. I wouldn’t wear them if gravity didn’t suck so bad.

10:17am Running isn’t so bad. The sun is out. It’s only like 50 degrees so I’m not sweating like a pig. I could live with this. I’ll just keep a nice steady pace so I don’t die.

10:35am Okay. Twenty minutes in? I’m almost halfway done. This isn’t so bad. I’m not even fatigued yet. I can breathe! And I can actually articulate greetings when I pass other people. A few weeks ago I would have just been heaving and wishing I was dead or at least back on my couch.

10:45am This is a nice area to run. Nice city sidewalks with minimal cracks to twist my ankle. The police drive by pretty often so I probably won’t get murdered.

That’s good, because I don’t really think I can run much faster than this. I couldn’t outrun a murderer.

I’m going to take a quick break and walk for a couple minutes. I’m more than halfway done, so it’s cool.

Look at that dam. Holy shit look at those rapids.

IMAG0848

I should start carrying mace on my runs like my mom told me. 

11:07am OH MY GOD I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS ANYMORE. WHY DID I ADD THAT FIVE MINUTE WARMUP IN THE BEGINNING OF MY RUN? DAMMIT RUNKEEPER, I DON’T WANT TO RUN FOR FIVE MORE MINUTES.

IMAG0850

I’m so close to the end. I can do this. Run for 3 more minutes. Then I can walk. Walk? I should just walk now. Seriously, I’ve done enough.

NO. YOU WILL NOT STOP RUNNING. YOU WILL KEEP RUNNING. What was that thing I saw on Pinterest? Run like zombies are chasing you? No, I hate zombies. Fuck zombies. They’re not real. Run like Ryan Gosling is waiting at the end? No, run like Ryan Gosling is waiting with a puppy at the end.

Okay, Ryan. I’m coming! Keep scratching behind the puppy’s ears!

11:12am Holy shit these stretches feel so good. I want to stretch forever. Oh my god. Ohhhhhhhhhh. This water tastes so good. It’s been in this bottle for like a day but I don’t even care because it’s water. Oh my god. Ahhhhh. I need to do this more often.

IMAG0852

11:17am That was awesome. Seriously. 4.31miles in 55 minutes. It should always be like this when I run. Why is the weather not always conducive to running?

I stink. Oof.

IMAG0854

I’m going to do this again tomorrow. Maybe I’ll run more. Or maybe I’ll do those intervals. I want to get faster. Oh my gosh this running thing is awesome. Why did I not want to do it this morning?

Oof. I should really shower.

Throwback Thursday: Thankfully, middle school doesn’t last forever

It’s been another week. I don’t even know what happened between last Thursday and this. Somehow seven days have passed. All I have to show for it is a bunch of overtime, bags under my eyes, a sore knee, a terrible blood blister on the tip of one of my toes, and a three-day weekend in sight! That’s right! I’m taking a day of vacation next friday. I’m going to read. And eat pancakes. And sit in sweatpants all day. I might go for a walk downtown. I might day drink. Who knows? The possibilities are endless!

Anyway, please accept my apology for the lack of post in between Thursday posts. I’ve got another idea for a weekly post – so keep your eyes open!

Every Thursday, I dig out an old diary and share an entry sans editing (in hopes we’ll all see my grammar and apostrophe use improve) with a short commentary. If you like laughing with/at Young Ashley, feel free to use the handy search bar to the right and simply type “Throwback Thursday” and you’ll find the whole archive. Thanks for reading!

Thursday May 25, 2000

Dear Libby, 

Do I sound happy in my diary entries? I wonder what people think when they see me. Do think think, “Oh, there’s a dork.” or “there goes that Brat again.” or “What did she do to her face?”

I’ve been depressed lately. The only good points of my days are when Travis is online the same time I am. I feel like the urge to fit in is driving me crazy. I want so badly to have a boyfriend, someone like Travis. Like he would write “I luv Ashley” like, 500 times in an e-mail to one of his friends. 

I want to feel loved. I know my family and God love me, but I want a boy to love me. I want someone to give me a rose because they missed me over the summer, or to call me, even to pass notes with a boy would be better than nothing! 

It’s like, how many girls my age don’t want to feel love from a boy? I sure don’t know many! How many girls would love to be popular and always surrounded by friends? TONS! And I’m one of them! 

I think I would feel an atomic ton better if I lost 15 pounds. I want to feel good about myself in my Navy Blue Tankini! Who the hell wouldn’t?!!

Igg

Luv ya, 

Ashley

Middle school was basically three years of me being perpetually disappointed with myself. I was too short. I was too fat. I had too many pimples. My boobs weren’t big enough. I didn’t make cheerleading. None of the boys liked me. Everyone else had cooler clothes than me. Everyone was cooler than me.

I’d like to think my classmates were all just as lost and miserable as I was, but I’m sure some of them weren’t. Maybe it’s the jealous twelve year old in me, but I bet some girls never had to wish for a boy to like them. You remember those girls – the ones who always had a boyfriend, even when having a boyfriend only meant that you sat next to each other at lunch and danced the slow dances.

I think this is a picture of my sixth grade homeroom class. I'm just the frumpy weirdo in the back with straight up Zooey bangs.

I think this is a picture of my sixth grade homeroom class. I’m just the frumpy weirdo wearing orange with the straight up Zooey bangs. We were a pretty glamorous bunch, huh?

It’s funny to see how much I changed from twelve to eighteen. I went from desperately wanting to be a preppy cheerleader to deciding to be an Hot Topic-shopping emo kid who scribbled all over her notebooks. The things I strove for ended up being the same things I loathed in high school. I hated the status quo because I didn’t feel like I could ever be the girl I wanted to be. I ended up changing who I wanted to be – I lowered the social standards for myself. 

In retrospect, this was probably for the best. Sometime in eighth grade, some of the girls I was jealous of  ended up getting in trouble with parents, principals, and counselors after rumors surfaced about sex acts and underage drinking. There’s no telling what state of self-loathing I might be in now if I had entertained my craving for male attention. It would have gone one of two ways: giving in and getting that cheap validation or panicking at the idea of a penis and refusing to ever look at a boy again. Judging from my previously mentioned encounters with boys, it probably would have been the latter.

Not sure why I thought the gigantic sweatshirt was a good look, but I rocked it anyway.

Not sure why I thought the gigantic sweatshirt was a good look, but I rocked it anyway.

Though I still occasionally wonder what people think of me, it’s a relief to not have that same cloud of self-consciousness hanging over me. Call it what you want – self-assuredness or a malfunctioning social awareness – I live my life as I want, without spending too much time taking the status quo into consideration. I suppose that doesn’t come as much of a surprise after knowing that I’m looking forward to spending a day of vacation reading, huh? Whatever. I’m going to get paid to read and eat pancakes in my sweatpants.

Never in her wildest dreams did Young Ashley think that’s what she’d get excited about at twenty-five.