Bothered (Mental Illness)

That's my finger. Left, ring, to be exact. Can you see that it is swollen and bent? Trust me, it is. I was playing catch with a football, having a grand ol' time, feeling like a kid again, and then the football must have got mad at me, 'cause it decided to land on top of my finger, jamming the tip down into the rest of it. Now, initially I didn't think twice about this.. we've all been kids, we've all stubbed our fingers, we've all had our moms kiss it and make it better. No big deal. It didn't even hurt that much. But as the day wore on and it began to throb, my mind began to edge ever closer towards the dark recesses of adult-onset hypochondria. I was becoming a little too worried about this stupid finger, so I took some Tylenol and drank a few beers (you know, like the warning label recommends) and tried to distract myself from thinking about it. It sorta worked, I thought, and I fell asleep eventually. Then came 2am.

I woke like a shot, felt the pain still present in my poor little digit, and immediately my mind started racing... I can't bend it now, what if I can never move it again? What if it's infected? Would it have to be amputated?? No kidding, I jumped right to amputation as the inevitable conclusion to this injury. These are the thoughts that raced through my sleep deprived, pain-addled brain. Even worse, after I absent-mindedly cracked all the rest of my fingers, my touch of OCD started to kick in and I had the overwhelming desire (that felt like desperate need) to crack this one remaining, unmoving finger... I HAD to. I HAD to complete the sequence of cracking and I HAD to do this thing that I had always been able to do. It was driving me crazy to not be able to crack this one finger. My skin began to crawl and I started to hyper-ventilate, just on the brink of panic attack mode.

All this for a stubbed finger, people! I know better. But these were not logical thoughts, my brain was not being controlled by reason at this particular moment. I couldn't turn off my crazy brain. I couldn't stop focusing on not being able to crack my finger. I was bothered. I eventually managed to regain some control and did some deep breathing exercises until I calmed down enough to convince myself that my finger was not going to fall off and I was not going to die from this. Though I still couldn't sleep and ended up playing Brick Breaker on my Blackberry to distract myself until I physically couldn't hold my eyes open any longer.

When day finally came and I woke up, finger now turning a little purple but still attached, I was kind of ashamed. I was bothered that I was bothered.. I mean, aren't I supposed to be too good for mental illness?? Then immediately after those thoughts I become bothered that I was bothered that I was bothered.. who am I to be too good for mental illness? You arrogant son of a bitch, I said to myself. Just because my self image doesn't generally include any mental deficiencies doesn't mean that I can't or don't have them. I am just as susceptible to dumb ideas and flaws in the wiring as the rest of the human race. Who the fuck am I to hold myself above anyone else? I am not anyone, I assure you.

Nevertheless, having reconciled myself to the idea that it was possible for me to be a little nuts, that did not change the fact that I was still a little nuts over this finger. As night fell on the second night of the great crazy finger incident of '09 I was going stir crazy again and told Jesse I had to get out of the house. We ended up walking all over North Beach and Nob Hill until we wandered past the Nob Hill Masonic Temple where Ray LaMontagne was playing that very night. We happen to like Ray LaMontagne, and we had even thought about buying tickets for this, but since we were passing by it seemed like a good opportunity for seeing something for nothing. We staked it out and found a way to sneak in without too much effort. Sneak we did, and we saw about three songs before we couldn't take the heat any longer and bolted. It was fun and all the walking we did made me tired enough to sleep ok. Although, I still found it necessary to distract my brain and went to sleep with my iPod on. Anything to keep my brain from focusing on the one thing I didn't want it to focus on. The one thing I couldn't do, and therefore the one thing I wanted to do more than I've ever wanted to do anything in my life. At that moment, alone with my thoughts, cracking my finger again seemed like the most important thing in the world. Like I said, nuts.

The point of all this is: Lesson learned, none of us are too good. We are all just human. I thought I knew this already, of course, but when the chips were down (and the finger swollen) I realized I still thought it couldn't happen to me. I'm an asshole. End of story. Oh, and the finger is slowly getting better and not bothering me anymore. OK, it's still bothering me a little, but what're ya gonna do? That's life.

Meanwhile, in an entirely different, more daring bout with mental illness, my friend Danie ran her first marathon about a week after I got here. I maintain that she is crazy, and that all runners are one energy bar short of a dozen, but I will say that being out there in the middle of over 20,000 running ladies was kinda cool.. the excitement and positive energy was infectious. And Danie did awesome! Click here to read all about her journey and see an embarasing clip of me running. Go #teamdanie!

My Days Are No Longer Numbered

Now that I am in San Francisco full time, officially not going to or coming from any other place for the first time in a couple of months, I am hereby freeing myself from the rigidity of sharing my life in sequential order.. I will now be like all the other Tarantino knock-offs and tell my story out of order. Well, sometimes it'll be in order, sometimes it won't; for that matter, sometimes it'll be honest, sometimes it'll only be paying homage to honesty (again, that's what Tarantino would do). I can tell you this, most of the time I will be trying to tell the truth, but writing brings out the manipulator in me.. if something doesn't quite sound right in print, or I just can't quite find the right words for it because I am not that good of a writer, I'll probably just massage the truth, shaping it just enough, until it fits nicely with whatever story I am trying to convey. So, that's just the way it is.

Anyways... For now, all I want to do is share some random pictures from my first couple weeks in the Bay Area. You may notice that I bought myself a Giants hat, further proof that I am a fraud. For, I have bought baseball hats in every city I have spent any time in over the years, in an effort to blend in with the locals. I may stick out like a sore thumb in Wheeling, WV, but in most other cities I feel like I can throw on a local baseball hat and effectively pass for just another San Franciscan, New Yorker (Mets and Yankees, depending on the neighborhood), or Angelino. Just don't ask me about the team's chances or for directions to the nearest tourist attraction, cause I won't have a clue.

First you see some of the beautiful vistas I have been privileged to behold as simply part of the backdrop of my new daily existence. The Golden Gate Bridge, from three different spots on three different days, with fog and without. The thing really is amazing and mesmerizing in some mytho-poetic way. Below you see a shot of the Ferry Building where I went on my first day here and have gone back to several times since, mostly for the farmer's market. One day I will try something from Boccalone, a pork store inside the building that promises "Tasty Salted Pig Parts"... mmmm, pig parts. Also below, you'll see a shot of one of the cable car turn-arounds down near Fisherman's Wharf and Ghirardelli Square. At the end of the line the conductors (is that what you'd call them?) have to get out and manually push the car around on a turntable so it faces the other way and can begin re-tracing its route. Then there are some shots of Alcatraz and the sea lions at Pier 39... You know, just 'cause. Those sea lions are loud and not afraid to get in each others' personal space. They are definitely close talkers.

Now here are a few pictures of some of the more normal things in my San Francisco life. The Bagelry is where I have found the best bagels in the neighborhood. Not gonna say they are as good as New York bagels, but they are pretty close, and a big step up from your average Lenders' or Einstein's. Recently, I introduced Jesse to everything bagels and lox... he greatly approved of both. Next is a picture of my first day at the laundromat. In Jersey I always did wash n' fold service (it was less than $1 per pound.. an offer I couldn't refuse), but in SF it is too expensive and it makes more sense to actually do my own laundry. Plus - what with being unemployed and all - what the hell else do I have to do? Anyway, Danie kindly showed me how to work a laundromat washer and dryer and off I went. I have been back since for several more successful loads. Finally, there is the view from Danie and Jesse's roof.. ok, maybe that's not so normal after all. Living here is still pretty dang spectacular.

Ch. 6a - The End of the Beginning (Thank You!)

So, my Hyundai and I have arrived in San Francisco safe and sound.. I didn't get any tickets or flats along the way and I saw a lot of strange, beautiful things, including a lot of my favorite people in the world (we all of us are strange and beautiful, don't you think?). In short, this post and this blog is dedicated to them... THANK YOU!!! Whatever it is that I have done, I couldn't have done it without you.

Thank you Mitch; Aunt Lorrie; Becky, Chris, Brendan, and Doolin O'Brien; Margaret and Mia and Margaret's Grandma; Dan and Kash; and Danie and Jesse. Also, thanks to my New York cousins, Sara and Ellie, and my New York friends Justin and Laura, all of whom offered and would have been glad to let my unemployed ass sleep on their couches before I left. Thanks, too, to my parents, Aunt Arlie, Uncle Stan, Uncle Bob, Buba, Grandma and Grandpa, and all my family in Florida who gave me their continual moral support. I may end up sleeping on their couches one day too, and they'll be more than happy to have me, I know that.

Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I love you all, and if I ever get a couch of my own, you know you have a place to stay in San Francisco..

In geographical order, from east to west, here are all the homes, rooms, or view from the homes I slept in along the way; my homes away from home:

Looking back on this blog I realize that how I chose to tell my story had a lot to do with where I was at the time I actually got down to telling it.. all the places you see above. History is always presented through the prism of the present I guess, this is nothing new, but even my own past is constantly changing in my mind as I look back on it. Maybe someday I'll rewrite this story entirely and come to wildly different conclusions.. or maybe I won't. Until then, this is only 'the end of the beginning' of the second (or is it the third? fourth? Whatever.) metaphorical book of my life. I don't know how it will all end. But it had to start somewhere.

Ch. 6 - Going to California

When I woke up Monday morning and got in my car heading west from Las Vegas, things suddenly got real. This was now the final leg of my trip; in about 9 hours I would be off the road and in my new "home" town. Holy crap. I was excited and full of energy.. I was ready to see new, beautiful things; I was ready to find out how this long odyssey was going to conclude! But as I got closer to the state line, I realized there was a part of me that didn't want the road trip to stop, a part that just wanted to keep driving for months, maybe years, like that one time Forest Gump just kept run-ning. Me and Foxy the car had seen a lot between Jersey and Vegas, but there was still so much more to see.. I could go to San Francisco, stop for a week, and then head north and then east and then south, and then wherever the wind took me next. I could do this. Money would be a problem, but I could do this! Ahh, but there was an even bigger part of me that craved stability and the comforts of home; a part of me that had been wanting to stop and settle and breath deep and relax for a long time.. probably since I left Vegas the first time over a year ago. As usual, as may be the crux of the human condition, I was of two minds, a man divided. Was it fear that made me want to keep driving? Was I afraid of failure in San Francisco.. or, worse, was I afraid of success? Maybe. Is it possible to have commitment issues with yourself?? Yes, I think so.

Nevertheless, once I saw the World's Largest Thermometer, seen above, and the exit for Zzyzx Road, I knew I had crossed the border and the excitement of finally being in California replaced, at least temporarily, whatever reluctance I was having about completing my trip. I couldn't wait to get there and my mind was racing so much that I hardly remember the rest of the drive through the deserts of California. I remember at one point I passed a cow farm bigger than any I had seen in Texas.. there were cows packed tight for what seemed like miles! The rest is honestly a blur until I hit the Bay Bridge (which, as I write this, has been completely shut down for a week because large chunks of steel were literally falling off of it! But that's a different story). As I crossed the bridge I got my first look at what, for at least the forseeable future, would be my city. It was beautiful! They weren't kidding.

It was not far at all from the end of the Bay Bridge to Danie and Jesse's house, but it was far enough for me to have to dodge cable cars and go up the steepest hill I've ever driven on. Scary on both accounts! Those cable cars roll right down the middle of the frickin' street! You know, as if they were cars.. What kind of crazy town is this? But I found their place unscathed, quickly off-loaded some of my stuff (just enough to allow someone to squeeze into the passenger seat.. barely), and set out to find a parking spot. Here's Danie and Foxy on the steep ass hill where my car still rests today, some three weeks and two parking tickets later (who knew you had to get a parking permit? Well, I guess we knew, but it turns out I am not as above the law as I thought). Anyway, as with any big city, good parking spots are not to be given up willy-nilly.. So, I ain't driving anywhere if I can help it.

The next day I began playing tourist in earnest. The first thing I did was walk to the Ferry Building on The Embarcadero.. I had to see the sea! I sat on the dock of the bay, wasting time, as it were, and took stock.. the journey had been long and winding, but now I was looking at the Pacific Ocean (I understand it was the Bay, but close enough). There was a gentle breeze and the air smelled clean.. I remember thinking life was good! I sat there for a while, I didn't want to leave. Maybe because I knew I'd have to walk back uphill to go home... how is it that there seems to be more uphills than downhills?! I am still working on getting my San Francisco legs. Before I left The Emarcadero, I took a picture of a nice Asian tourist and then he offered to take my picture, too. I couldn't refuse.. There I am at the end of a pier with the famous Transamerica Pyramid building in the background. Shortly after that I became fascinated by the below seagull and took about a million pictures of her (it's a girl, duh). That boat is named the "San Francisco Spirit" and that's the also famous Coit Tower in the background. Scenic.

My San Francisco chapter had only just begun.. would I be leaving my heart here? Can a man live on Rice-a-Roni alone? Can I think of anymore San Francisco cliches? The verdict was still out, but it sure was good to be here.