lixlove

Not this Borg

This Borg

Sunday Exception
I distinctly remember being able to skip Sundays during Lent. The season is 40 days and 40 nights, not counting Sundays. Now, I’m sure this has something to do with old-time Lenten traditions of undergoing serious fasts and allowing the poor church patrons to eat a little something on Sunday so they had enough energy to get to church and sit through service. I’m also sure that Jesus didn’t “take breaks” from his fasting. Neither here nor there, when I was a kid I was allowed to skip Sundays and I’ve opted to continue what may be a family tradition or simple adult delusion. So on Sundays, I eagerly watch Top Chef and shamefully click through the channels delaying the moment when I have to press the power button and enter into silence.

Dear Readers:  It pains me to inform you that I fell off the wagon from my TV and DVD fast.  The past few days had been hard.  Even though my apartment has been devoid of the obnoxious sounds of chicken wing and beer commercials, TV’s absence has been disquieting.  Putting it on is somewhat centering – it buys me time before I have to figure out what I want to do with my day or evening.  Now that center, which doesn’t seem to be easily replaceable with the radio or magazines, is missing and I’m a little off-balance.

Wednesday was a hard day for me at work.  I don’t mean to disrespect my job or my colleagues, but some days I experience a perfect storm of feeling bored, angry, frustrated, imprisoned and cold – each feeling exacerbating another.  There’s too much to say about these feelings to explain it here, but I’ll say that I had a lot of those regrettable days last year.  I thought I had figured out how to navigate through those storms, but I failed yesterday’s test.

After my second solo movie during Lent, I found the crowd of Caps fans leaving the Verizon Center – collectively distracted with children, cigarettes, hunger and intoxication – a little disarming.  This is not a time when being invisible is helpful.  I started to cry on my walk home.  Maybe I needed to cry earlier in the day, but it came out then.  After a few sobs and an angry tirade to the back of the 52 bus that zipped past me and another WMATA rider without stopping, I pulled it together.

Of all the celebrity pics that resulted from a Google Images search for “off the wagon” this was the most awesome

At home, I poured some red wine and nuked some leftovers.  ”I’ll just watch a few Daily Show clips until I finish eating and head to bed.”  A few clips turned into a full episode, which turned into a full episode of Colbert Report, which turned into a full episode of Bethenny Ever After (yes, I watch it and I love it), which turned into Eat, Pray, Love on Netflix, which turned into more wine and and more sobbing.  Pathetic? Maybe.  If there’s a realistic theme in Eat, Pray, Love, its that we can feel emotionally overwhelmed even under perfectly livable circumstances – or maybe its just me and Elizabeth Gilbert sobbing at the Ground Zero of our comfortable middle class lives.  Since that book sold a gazillion copies, I refuse to believe that it’s just the two of us.

As I watched my shows on my laptop in bed sipping my wine, I felt great.  ”I’m back, baby!” I said to my cat, snapping my fingers in the air as I did a little dance of victory.  The juice was back in my veins.  I didn’t care about the three weeks I had put in, or my three readers I might disappoint.  I lounged in a bath of aaaahhhhh!!! and it felt good.

But I’m not done.  Today is a new day and I’m hopping back on the wagon.  One thing I wanted to get out of this experience was more mindfulness, and while I’ve put in more time on the meditation cushion, I feel that there’s more room to grow.  I also hoped to gain a new coping mechanism for bad days – something to replace staying up half the night in a TV-Malbec Haze.  Maybe I won’t find anything during Lent or during my life, but if movies and booze are all I have, then I suppose its better than nothing.

Saturday: I left off my blog on Saturday night. I was ruminating on whether to stay in listening to the Danes upstairs have a fancy-pants dinner party or dragging my ass out to salsa lessons. I pleased to report that I went with the latter, though mediocre dance partners and a somewhat dry brownie at Tryst were an unwelcome let down after my tiny act of bravery. I tried, and while I didn’t fail, I passed. As a lifelong B- student…I’ll take it.

Sunday: This is my cheat day. Lent consists of 40 days and 40 nights not counting Sundays. Growing up, we were allowed to cheat on Sundays, so for the past two Lent Sundays, I’ve watched Top Chef. This week I also indulged in a little March Madness streamed online. My day was disjointed. I hadn’t planned what I wanted to do with the day – usually I watch TV – so I was left off-center and strangely disoriented. I was lost in a familiar place. A million things to do but I couldn’t figure out how to start any of them. I spent the day feeling anxious, then nauseated.

Monday: Today is difficult. I stayed up late Sunday night finishing my book so now I’m quite tired. I already made myself a little cocktail so I’m not in the mood for yoga. Worst of all, I’m having a little personal mini-drama that I can’t get off my mind. More than any day, this is the day for TV or a movie. A welcome distraction. At 7:40 it is too early to go to bed.  I’m too tired and tipsy to do my taxes.  I’m too emotionally haywire to write (current blog post excluded). I’ll have to be extremely resourceful to keep myself entertained for next hour before I can take a Tylenol PM and call it a day.

In my Lenten TV and movie fast, I’ve experience two types of cravings:

1. Program-specific:  I woke up the other day with a strong urge to watch Pulp Fiction.  The dream that spawned this craving was forgotten.  The urge was clear and present.  I haven’t seen Pulp Fiction in a while.  What a great soundtrack.  Royal with cheese!  Outside of my Lent experiment, I would have either sought it out on Netflix or Amazon satiating the beast.

 I’ve seen Pulp Fiction many times.  There are many movies I have seen many times: Rain Man, Dead Poets Society, Dirty Dancing, Six Degrees of Separation, Goodfellas, to name a few.  Like certain cheeses call for certain wines, certain moods or days or occasions call for different trips down memory lane.

2. The sheer relaxing pleasure and comfort that comes from sitting in front of the TV.  It’s Saturday night.  I didn’t make any plans.  I’m home listening to the couple that lives upstairs entertain guests.  Under normal circumstances I would watch a movie or two and not worry about finding another way to entertain myself.  But now I have to decide if I want to stay in and try to be productive or if I want to be brave and go out alone.  TV and my DVDs are good friends on nights like these.  Now they’re on vacation and I feel a little lost.  Look at Uma lying on her bed with a pistol and a ciggie.  She looks disgusted by my pathetic insecurities.  Bored by apathetic social life.  Me too, Uma!

Will I stay in, get some writing done and perhaps the laundry?  Will I head over to Habana Village for salsa lessons?  I’ll report back tomorrow.

Town Tavern, to be specific.  Not to get all uppity about it, but Town Tavern is not my kind of place.  Too young, too loud, too crowded, and too much Bud Light.  What it lacks in both posh-lounge sophistication and dive-bar appeal, it makes up for in proximity.  I’ve lived in Adams Morgan, close to 18th street for 7 years.  There’s no reason why I should be holed-up in my apartment most nights of the week.  But TV turns staying in from a defeatist compromise to an acceptable option.  

I was out for two hours and had a good time.  I had a glass of wine, watched a little college basketball, talked to some new people, but most importantly caught up with a good friend.  I’m glad I left the house and I probably would not have done it if I had NBC comedies to keep me occupied.

Today is day 8.

Today was a typically dull day at the office. I read my emails and responded to them. I read the latest reports and summarized them. I read and typed. I read and typed some more. I looked busy and productive. Job well done. I find these days emotionally exhausting. At some point in the late afternoon, since I can’t whip out the newspaper or my book, I turn to the Internet. The office drone’s compatriot in procrastination and secret weapon for giving the appearance of productivity without producing much of anything.