california blogging: yesterday was not a good day

Greetings from Orange County! It's the coldest I've ever felt here yet that's the least of my problems. Happy vacay to me! (NOT)

Yesterday was kinda crappy. Jesse and I had a 7:30 a.m. flight to Orange County by way of Dallas. We arrived in Dulles before 6 a.m. so we decided to go to the sit down restaurant near our gate for breakfast (Max and Irma's has a great b-fast for cheap that I highly recommend). After breakfast, we saw a huge line of people by our gate. Assuming it was time to board, we made it to the end of the line, only to be told that our flight had been cancelled. I was plenty tired, had just had a tearful goodbye with the kitties (they took it well; I was a wreck), and all I wanted to do was get home ASAP and now here we were with a cancelled flight.

Ugh. I hate cancelled flights.

They ended up putting us on a flight to Dallas 2 hours later after which we would need to hightail it to the other side of the airport in order to get to our connection to Orange County. Except I was hungry, thirsty, and needing to pee. We got to the gate just as they were doing a final boarding call. I got on the plane and my hunger/thirst/bladder was the last thing on my mind because I felt a migraine coming.

Ugh. What timing.

I took an Imitrex which knocked me out (yay, sleep!). I slept for most of the flight to Orange County until I woke up during some crazy turbulance due to a storm we were flying in. It continued for about 45 minutes until we had the bumpiest landing ever. As I got off the plane, I sighed in that little connector tunnel between the plane and the gate and I SAW MY BREATH.

What??? I'm not supposed to see my own breath in normally sunny, mild, generally perfect Southern California! That stuff only happens in states where winter actually takes place.

Ugh. It's cold.

As we stood outside in the pouring, freezing rain waiting for our car rental shuttle, I saw my breath plenty of times. I checked the weather forecast on my phone and saw that we should expect this kind of weather for the entire week we are here. Great. I left DC to get away from this crap and enjoy some sun. Now I get to spend my week, sans sun.

Ugh. Stupid rain.

Things calmed down a bit after a trip to In-and-Out and a long-needed trip to the bathroom. Two hours later, we started on our way to meet a good friend of mine for dinner.

The normally 1 hour drive to Sunset Blvd. in West Hollywood where I was meeting my friend took nearly 2 hours thanks to the usually congested freeway made worse by the rain. Not sure what it is about rain that makes people forget how to drive. We were nearly rear-ended twice because the cars behind me were wayTOOclose and we were stop and go for a while. Hello, inappropriate stopping distance!

Ugh. Silly California drivers.

Dinner was awesome and I'm so glad I got to see my friend and her new husband. It was the first time I had seen her since her wedding and she looked so happy with her boo and her life, which made me really happy.

Yay, friends!

Later, I had some trouble sleeping, so I got up to check email. Big mistake. I received an email from the agency I consult for (I need the extra money as my non-profit salary isn't remotely competitive in today's market) telling me they can no longer afford to pay me so I was being let go. Oh and Merry Christmas, Liz.

Ugh. Sh*tty layoffs.

And now I'm here, blogging this at 4 a.m. PST. Well, at least I didn't get a migraine, we got home safe and sound, we didn't get rear-ended and I got to see my friend.

I really miss my kitties though. *sigh*

the daddy issues in my relationship

My boyfriend/KittyDaddy was at the doctor's recently and the doctor suspected something wrong might be going on with his heart so he was referred to a cardiologist. After several tests, the cardiologist deemed that Jesse was a-ok.

However, on the day of his lastest test, I was stressing out. That test was the most vigorous and the most telling. Being the pessimist that I am, I suspected Jesse might be headed for a pre-mature death and I was terrified. I love him so much and I don't know what I would do without him and I haven't given much thought to how I would function should something awful happen. I can't NOT have him in my life.

I've been feeling so happy and satisfied with my life lately that I'm expecting my world to come crashing down any second Why enjoy the happiness when there is impending doom?

The good stuff can't really last, can it? I'm sure my mom had no idea that her husband/my dad would end up getting cancer and dying before my third birthday. From what I know of that time (before the big C), everything was perfect in my mom's life--she had a husband she adored who was a loving father to two (with me on the way) smart kids with a roof over her head and food on the table. And then one day, my father, who had never smoked a day in his life, suddenly gets lung cancer and passes away within three years of his diagnosis, leaving my mom as a widow and a single mom to three kids.

I get a lump in my throat just typing this.

The thing is, three years prior to my dad's passing, my mom had no idea that her perfect life would suddenly take a turn for the worst possible scenario. Nearly 30 years later, my mom has moved on but she still has her moments. To this day, I know she still wonders what could've been of her life had my father hadn't passed (heck, I wonder that too).

So I've been thinking a lot about my dad lately as Jesse goes through these tests (he's ok, so far). In the interim, we've decided to start living healthier lives by eating better, snacking less, and exercising more. I hope to have a long, happy life with him but you can never be sure about these things.

As Jesse and I continue to talk about marriage and spending the rest of our lives together, I can't help but wonder when will the good times stop? I can't possibly be this lucky to have the perfect boyfriend, great friends, a loving family, the most satisfying job, and two perfect kitties (actually, Gracie's not perfect, now that I think about it).

I find myself so absolutely afraid of losing it all that I can't always enjoy how happy it makes me now.

and just when everything in life is falling into place...

I had a complete and total breakdown yesterday.

It all started Sunday night/early Monday. I only got 3 hours of sleep. I was up all night thinking about my future. Specifically, I was worrying about how I might lose my job. Yes, THAT job, the one that I absolutely LOVE and blog about weekly (even though I know I really shouldn't). The WHY? can be simply answered: the funding for my program ends in September and we have not heard back yet on whether we will get funding for another project, one that I've affectionately titled, My Baby. Because the federal government likes to be all NOT upfront about when we should hear back from them, we are hoping to hear next month, but that is not a definite.

I've never been unemployed. I'm not even sure if it's appropriate to begin to look for a job in the event that the unthinkable happens because I want to stay right where I am. I'm dedicated to this group and most importantly, I'm super dedicated to this project. I love what I do and it took me a long time to find a job that I actually look forward to going to every single day. And this just sucks! I know that I should consider myself lucky for having a job that I love so much. But Fate is just cruel for letting me have a taste of job-happiness only to take it away from me.

I am so lucky. I have a boyfriend/partner (future hubby) that I adore, kitties that I love to death, a place that my partner and I created into OUR home, family and friends that are alive and well, and a job that is perfect for me. My luck can't last that long, right? Who could possibly deserve all of these great things in his/her life? I've certainly been humbled by the fact that everything in my life seems to be falling into place. So OF COURSE, Fate had to step in and say, "Uh, no, honey. You can't be that lucky." (For some reason, in my head, Fate is a drag queen).

Which is why I think we're not getting funded and I'll end up without a job. Well, that and the fact that we're in a recession (yes, GOP, someone had to say it) and the economy sucks and plenty of qualified people are losing their jobs.

Yesterday, when my anxiety-riddled self came to the conclusion that I don't deserve to be this happy, I began to accept that I will lose the job I love. And so the breakdown began.

It started off simple enough. I had a headache. I thought some Coke would help (the soft drink, peeps) and it didn't. I dragged myself through the work day before I began to feel the aura. A migraine was coming. And my Imitrex refill was at the pharmacy. For some reason, I thought I could put off the migraine with the power of my mind (Please don't come, please don't come) and I didn't pick up my refill until it was too late. Sure the head hurt already. The nausea came next. By the time I got off of the Metro, the sensitivity to light and sound was there. I got on the bus and called Jesse to pick me up from the next stop.

When I got to the stop, Jesse wasn't there. I began to panic. I felt like throwing up. I looked around for his car and he wasn't there. I felt alone. And upset. And then I couldn't breathe. My chest felt heavy. And then Jesse showed up. By then, I was in full on panic attack mode. Panic attack + migraine = not-so-good-times

My body has a fun way of dealing with stress. I really wish I could cope better.

So Fate, whatever you have in store for me, if it's painful, just do it now and do it quick.

a time to heal, a time to speak out

I suppose this should be my Virginia Tech shootings commemoration post. I should be reminding you about how awful that day was, not just for the students, but for the community of Blacksburg and its far reach. I should be telling you about how I found out about the shootings (while at work, at my desk), about how I found out that a friend was in that building (Jesse called, he is a good friend he went to Tech with), about how we felt until we knew he was ok. I should tell you about what it felt like to watch the news, to see the faces of the victims in pictures during happier times. I should tell you about the strength of the community of Blacksburg, Hokies who bleed orange and maroon, who came together and rose above this horrifically tragic event.

But that's not what this post is about.

In my therapy sessions following the shootings last year, I shared with Dr. W (a VA Tech alum herself) my feelings regarding the shooter (I know his name but can't bring myself to type it). I wanted to blame him, especially after his tape came out. I needed someone, something to blame. But I couldn't blame him. And I was frustrated. Dr. W found herself in the same predicament.

We both knew why.

He appeared to be mentally ill. In my attempt to comprehend why something like this could happen to such a friendly, humble community, I was thirsty for knowledge about the shooter. I couldn't watch enough CNN or read enough articles. The shooter was ill. It was recognized at an early age and nothing was done about it. He was sent to a therapist, but it didn't stick. His parents chose to send him to church instead. But not all prayers end in miracles. And unfortunately, the mental condition of the shooter deteriorated to the point where murder and suicide were the only answers.

Well, why chose church over therapy? Why not go back to therapy after the prayer thing didn't work? Why was the family determined to keep this 'problem' within the family? Why not reach out to resources that are available in circumstances such as these?

Stigma, that's why.

In some cultures, having a mental illness is so socially undesirable that it would be better to keep it secret than to do anything about it. In our big brother culture here in the U.S., people don't seek treatment because they are afraid of someone finding out, resulting in social, political, and economical (job-related) ramifications. When I was depressed, I felt guilty about seeking treatment because I figured that there were people out there who needed it more than I did. People pop prozac like candy here but everyone's afraid to talk about being depressed. Why?

Why are we afraid to talk about mental illness? Why are we afraid to seek help? Is it so wrong to be labeled as depressed, anxious, schizo if you're actively in treatment for it? Wouldn't it be better to seek treatment than to suffer in silence as the problem escalates?

As I said earlier this week, if you were diagnosed as diabetic, would you be ashamed to ask for insulin?

Had the shooter remained in therapy, would we have had a 4/16? Had his parents supported him and acknowledged his illness, would things have been different? Would the shooter have felt isolated or desperate had he been treated for his condition?

There's nothing we can do about him now, but what about the next potential shooter?

Today, on the first anniversary of 4/16, I am calling for an end to stigma. I want people to feel free to seek help if they need it. I want people to be unafraid of losing their friends, jobs, significant others because they are ill. I want people to support, unconditionally, any friend or family member with mental illness. And if they are not in treatment, I want people to encourage their friends or family members to seek it.

My name is Liz.
I have generalized anxiety disorder.
I suffer from panic attacks and separation anxiety.
I was in weekly therapy for treatment (and will resume therapy now that I have insurance again).
I have family and friends who know this and still love me.

And I'm ok.

There's no shame in that.

cat and owner suffer from same disease, news at 11*

It's been a while since I last suffered a bout of separation anxiety. I've blogged about previous bouts before but in case you missed it, I basically became an unstable person in Jesse's absence, unable to perform some basic life functions just because I couldn't deal with the void he left. To romanticize it, I would say that Jesse took a part of me with him and I feel incomplete when he's away. But to be logical about it, the separation anxiety I felt was simply a symptom of a much larger problem and my inability to deal with loss is at the root of the generalized anxiety disorder I suffer from.

I must say that since we adopted Nicky, I haven't really felt alone and abandoned whenever Jesse is out of town. In fact, Nicky is SO good at filling the void of Jesse's absence that he actually sleeps in Jesse's spot in the bed, even resting his head on Jesse's pillow. Moreover, Nicky does the same for Jesse when I am out of town.

Since we got him, Nicky has become incredibly attached to us. I grew up with cats who were mostly independent and aloof, but Nicky is neither of these things. He is an attention-seeker and I suspect he has a fear of being alone. Whenever we're home, Nicky will cry until he gets a rub or scratch or a toy thrown his way. When play time is over, he'll come to where either of us are sitting and just lay next to us, with his back against our legs or an outstretched paw towards our hands.



The attachment is very sweet, but it becomes increasingly difficult to leave him at home. He cries incessantly for attention right before we leave and positions himself between us and the door as soon as he hears the jingle of keys. It's such a sad sight to see that even I start to feel a little anxious when we leave (ok, maybe a lot anxious).

guarding the door...


When Jesse or I get home, it's the same story. As soon as we put the key in the door, we can hear his little cries. The door swings open to reveal a (LOUD) crying kitty. Before my heart begins to break (and I mentally scold myself for leaving him alone), I pick him up and give him lots of attention. When I put him down, he begins to cry again. I feed him and he still cries. He does the same thing to Jesse as soon as he gets home.

One day, while giving Nicky a belly rub, I noticed a bald spot on his leg. I had no idea where it came from. I showed it to Jesse who told me not to worry about it (this is his reply to many, many things). Because I am who I am, I did worry which led me to do some research. The incessant crying. Getting between us and the door. The attachment. The bald spot on his leg. All of these together meant one thing--Nicky was suffering from separation anxiety.

Separation anxiety has long been noted in dogs and only recently has it been studied in cats. Separation anxiety that goes untreated for a long time will lead to health problems down the road. If the anxiety is really bad, cats are often prescribed antidepressants (so not joking) as treatment. The last thing I want to do is medicate Nicky. Like when I first sought treatment for anxiety, I want to treat Nicky's separation anxiety naturally and drug free. And the best way to do so is to get him a playmate.

As far as my own treatment, I did try the natural methods for treating anxiety. The breathing exercises. The meditation. I just couldn't focus when anxious so these didn't work for me. Although the drugs are effective for me, they don't work for everyone and sometimes I wish I didn't need to be on them. However, if getting Nicky another kitty to play with will keep him from going on kitty Xanax, then we'll do it.

The truth is that Dominick is very young. He was adopted at a young age and should've been adopted with another kitty. Jesse and I care about him too much to just let him go on like this. We can only see the physical manifestations of the anxiety. But I know what it feels like inside. And yes, maybe there's some projection going on. But if Nicky even feels 1/10 of what I feel on a regular basis, I would do anything to keep him from feeling that way.

So the search for Dominick's little buddy is on. And we're hoping this will be enough to make the anxiety go away.

*This is the third in a series of honest and personal posts about mental
illness. The series will culminate on April 16th, 2008, the one year
anniversary of the shootings at Virginia Tech.

the drugs are very effective. i want to be on them.*

I'm uninsured. I have been since I started my new job at the
beginning of January. Which is a strange position to be in when you
work for someone who provides free or low-cost health care to people
in DC who can't afford health care. I am now one of them apparently.

My employer takes this whole 90-day probationary period really
seriously. I don't have any benefits I can use for the first three
months of my employment. I accrue vacation and sick time but am not
allowed to use it. And I don't get any health insurance until after
the 90 days.

This sucks. I am on so many medications. Well, first off, there's
the birth control, which is an every day thing. Then there's the two
different medications for migraines (which I get when I've been sleep
deprived or stressed or both), one of which doesn't have a generic.
And then there's the two medications I'm on for my generalized anxiety
disorder, both of which are daily and one of which doesn't have a
generic.

I'm running out of my non-generic anti-anxiety pill. And it's
freaking me out. Because I still don't have insurance.

I've been running low on this drug for a couple of weeks now. When I
noticed I only had a few left in the bottle, I started rationing the
pills out. I began to take them every other day. Mind you, I'm
supposed to take them daily in order for them to be effective.

And boy are they effective. In fact, it wasn't until I started to
take them every other day that I realized just how I different I am
when I'm on them. I'm calm and rational. I don't let the little
things get to me. I sleep really well. And most importantly, I
haven't had a panic attack in a really long time.

Last week, on my 90th day of employment, I submitted my paperwork for
health insurance. I had been looking forward to that day for a while.
In fact, my aide had been counting down for me too. I had told her
about having to pay full price for birth control and how I was OD-ing
on vitamins every day so I wouldn't get sick (and I'm pretty sure I
won't be getting scurvy this year). She understood how important it
was to be insured.

When I submitted my paperwork, the HR lady told me that I didn't
qualify for health insurance until the 1st of May (she had her reasons
which don't make much sense but I will spare you the legal mumbo jumbo
here). I did my best to remain calm and composed, but the minute I
began the walk back to my office, I started to gasp for air. My body
tensed and my heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest.
I tried to take long deep breaths and felt like there wasn't enough
oxygen in the air for me to breathe. I was starting to have a panic
attack.

Not wanting my aide to see me in this state, I walked around the
neighborhood, trying to think of a solution to my problem. I
desperately needed refills on all of my drugs. But how was I going to
afford it? But instead of finding a solution, I became angry and
frustrated. Negative thoughts filled my brain. I couldn't have
health insurance right now because of some stupid administrative
reason. I alternated between stress and anger for awhile. I walked
slowly and timed my breathing in an effort to thwart the panic attack.
I tried every relaxation technique my shrink ever taught me (BTW, I
can't see her any more because I don't have health insurance and can't
afford to pay her out of pocket). They distracted me, but I was still
upset. I had no choice but to go back to my office in this state.

Immediately upon walking in, my aide knew something was wrong. I
broke down and told her. She countered by taking me out to lunch. It
was a pleasant and welcome distraction.

It's been a week and I've been waiting to hear if there's a way around
that administrative loop hole so I can be insured. I haven't taken my
anti-anxiety medication in 5 days. Every day, I am on the edge. My
whole body is waiting for the world to come crashing down. Every
little thing irritates me and makes me want to scream inside. I can't
believe that I lived this way for so long. I really don't want to
continue like this. I've been back to my old life for a few days and
already I want out.

I have one pill left. It's a tiny reminder of how much that
medication has changed me and helped me. I'm not sure why I've held
on to that one pill. Taking it now would make it completely
ineffective.

*This is the first in a series of honest and personal posts about mental
illness. The series will culminate on April 16th, 2008, the one year
anniversary of the shootings at Virginia Tech.

friday night freak out, starring the arlington fire department

It's Friday. I had just had a meeting which went longer than meetings. Also, anyone who thinks it's a good idea to have a meeting on a Friday afternoon is very, very delusional. I get back to my office and it's time to go. The voice mail light on my phone is flashing red. Ugh, it's Friday, I think. I don't want to check it. It can wait until Monday.

I assume the message is Jesse, calling to see when I'll be home. I decide to call him when I get to the bus. Except I forget. He calls when I'm about to get off of the bus.

J: You need to get home. There was a fire in unit (insert neighbor's unit number here). I just spoke to building management and they said that the fire department had to break in to our place to see if the fire spread.

Me: OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. Is Nicky ok? (yes, the first thing I thought of was the cat, our little fur baby)

J: I don't know. I didn't ask. I'm sure he's ok.

Me: You didn't ask?

J: It was a 30 second phone call.

Me: I'll call you when I get home.

I was furious at Jesse for not asking about Dominick, but this was overshadowed by my extreme worry that something had happened to our baby.

When I get to the condo lobby, I am greeted by some residents of the floor below us. One of them asks me, "Did you hear?" I answer, "Yes, I just found out. And they couldn't even tell us if our cat was ok." She responded sincerely (she has a dog, so she understands), "I'm sure everything is ok. Good luck."

The elevator ride to the top floor is the longest one ever. My heart begins to pound and I feel as though it is going to come out of my chest.

I get to my floor where I am greeted by men in suits. I rush to my door and find that someone has bashed it in. The Suits come over and ask, "Do you live in (insert my unit # here)?" I turn to them and say, "Yes. Is my cat ok?" One of The Suits says, "Yes, he's ok, but a little shaken up." I open the door and can hear Nicky howling. "Meooooooowwwww," he cries and my heart starts pounding faster. I pick him up in my arms and kiss his little head. Oh thank goodness he's ok.

The Suits follow me in, explaining what happened, as I walk into the bedroom (the one room closest to the neighbor's unit). All I could hear is "Blah, blah, blah" as I inspect the damage. First, I notice that apparently a hurricane had gone through our bedroom too. My clothes are all over the bed, covered in plaster. The TV and stand had been tossed to the side. The XBox was thrown onto the bed. My make-up was everywhere but inside my make-up bag. My shelving unit had been broken apart and its pieces were all over the floor. As I proceeded through the mess, I took it all in. That was when I noticed the holes. The big one was in the ceiling above my closet. And the other one was in the wall above my closet. Pieces of wall and ceiling were on the floor. My heart sank to my stomach. Our home. Our poor little home was defaced. Scarred. I took a deep breath to calm down and regretted it. I realized then that the bedroom reeked of smoke.

the ceiling

the wall above my closet

I reminded myself of what was important. I kissed Nicky's furry little head again. At least he's safe.

It was then that I thought of my neighbor. I asked The Suits about him during a break in the "Blahs". "He's ok," they said. The Suits left soon after that. After all, it was Friday and they wanted to go home to their unblemished homes.

As soon as they left, I took Nicky into the kitchen and got his Fish Sticks (not real ones, but a kitty treat). I fed them to him one by one. Jesse and I have realized that this relieves our guilt whenever we feel responsible for traumatizing Nicky (we discovered this when we gave him a bath and he was really upset afterwards). I was hoping the treats would help us forget the afternoon from hell.

I got a fresh sense of perspective when I visited my neighbor to check up on him. He was fine, but his condo didn't fare so well. He had two giant makeshift sky lights in his living room ceiling and the wall between his kitchen and living room was nearly torn down.

Our neighbor told me how it all happened. He had a leaky faucet in his kitchen. Building management sent over a maintenance guy (not a plumber) to fix it. He used a blowtorch for whatever reason. The flame traveled up the pipe and through the pipe trail in the walls of his place. When he saw that there was smoke coming from the wall between his kitchen and the living room, our neighbor called 911.

Despite his home looking like a war zone, our neighbor took it well. He came over to our place where we had pizza and beer and played with Nicky.

We're hoping to have the holes patch up this week. And after that, I will only have the memory of the scare of my life to remind me of this day.

it’s not every day that you start a new job

I’m going to break my unspoken blog rule and blog in the vaguest terms about my job. As you know, I left my old job and yesterday I started my new job, one that felt like the perfect job for me.

Here’s what I found out yesterday:

A two block walk becomes very long when you add wind to subfreezing temperatures.

Must. Wear. More. Conservative. Tops. To. Work.

My position has been vacant for 4 months. Yes, 4.

My predecessor left her lunch in my inherited desk.

I should have more books, less cobwebs on my inherited book shelf.

I love how the most prominent file in my inherited file cabinet was the one labeled “Food” with all the menus from the local restaurants.

Some people thrive on drama. I’d prefer to escape it, not resolve it.

There might be no limit to the amount of information my brain can absorb in one day.



Let the stressing out begin.

is it the drugs and therapy or is it just me?

It appears that the best thing I ever did to treat my generalized anxiety disorder was move away from home.

I had no idea how stressful life at home is. And it’s not because there’s non-stop action/drama at home. It’s my sister. She just has to freak out over EVERYTHING.

For example, the Saturday I was in the OC was jam packed with stuff to do. In my head, I had a schedule:

9 a.m. – 10:30-ish a.m. Hair appointment with my colorist (I am now Goth Liz, with dark brown hair and red highlights)
11 a.m. – noon-ish Go to In-N-Out for lunch.
Noon-ish – 3:30-ish Watch the USC/Notre Dame game. Teach Serena the USC fight song.
3:30-ish – 5:30-ish Take a quick nap
5:30-ish to 6:30-ish Get ready for party.
6:30-ish to 10-ish PAAARTY!

In my sister’s head, the schedule went like this:

9 a.m. – 6:30-ish STRESS, STRESS, STRESS

The hair appointment turned into a family affair. My mom, sis, and I all had appointments with the same person (my colorist, Mischa, is very multi-talented). We all took turns babysitting my niece, Serena Rose, who was often content with checking out her cute self in the mirror. I am truly amazed by all of the simple things that can entertain kids for an extended period of time.

Mischa did my hair first. When she was done, my hair elicited the following comment from my mom: “It’s so dark.” Whatevs. I loved it.

After my mom’s hair was done, my sister was in the middle of her cut and color. While under the hair dryer, my sister started her freak out. She looked at her watch and saw that it was 11:15. “Oh my God. It’s so late. We still have to go to the grocery store. I still need to buy the frosting for your cake at Michael’s. We still need to…” In a previous life, I would’ve stressed out along with my sister. Instead, while she rambled about all the stuff we needed to do today, I calmly thought, Looks like I’m going to miss the first few minutes of the USC/Notre Dame game.

While my sister was getting her hair cut (which was going to take a while considering how thick her hair is), my mom, Serena, and I went to the grocery store to get some liquor and other last minute stuff for the party. Serena was content hanging out in the shopping cart, playing with a leaf, and singing her ABCs. By the time I finished putting the groceries in my sister’s car, it was noon and my sister’s hair was finally done.

We all piled into the car and tried to decide where to go for lunch. Obviously, I pushed the In-N-Out idea. My sister, still stressed about the stuff we needed to get done, snapped at me and said, “Why do we always have to do what you want to do?” Realizing her anger had nothing to do with me, I said with evenness, “Because you live here all the time and I visit maybe three times a year.” My sister replied with agitation, “Well, Serena doesn’t like hamburgers.” WHAT? How could my niece not like hamburgers? Especially In-N-Out ones? My sister went on, “She doesn’t like beef.” I thought, Not a problem. That’s what the In-N-Out secret menu is for. (Serena ended up getting a grilled cheese at In-N-Out, which is not the on the menu; it’s essentially a meatless cheeseburger.)

My sister’s stress level was starting to worry me. The last thing I wanted for my birthday was for my sister and me to have some kind of blow-up, knock-out fight. So I told her, “Look, I don’t want to stress on my birthday. I don’t want to fight with you. I just want everyone to be happy. The party doesn’t have to be perfect for it to be fun. The house doesn’t have to be flawlessly clean for people to have a good time. I just want to enjoy what little time I have with my friends and my family. So let’s relax and take a deep breath and stop stressing out.” With some reservation, my sister replied, “Ok.”

My sister ended up having a nervous breakdown in her car later on in the day (my mom and I weren't with her), but I managed to keep my mom calm while we talked to my sister on the phone, trying to help her figure things out. My sister, while out getting the frosting for my cake, was locked inside her car. Her car wouldn’t unlock and she didn't know what to do. My mom suggested she call the dealer where she recently purchased the car. After calling the dealer AND our trusted mechanic, my sister eventually figured out what was wrong. She didn’t put her car in Park after parking the car and turning it off. Ay.

I’m surprised with myself for managing to remain calm in a world of overly-stressed-out situations. I told my mom later that my therapy must be working. But honestly, I think that being this far away from my sister and her needless stressing out has helped me tremendously.

And that makes me sad.