Black Eye

Person: "Oh my god! What happened to your eye? Did you get in a fight?"

Me: "Yeah. This guy tried to mug me as I was leaving work. He grabbed my bag and gave me a good sock in the face before running. But, I was too quick for him, I beat the shit out of him, got my bad back, and then called the cops on his ass."

Person: "...woah. Really? Damn."

Me: "um... I might have made a few of those details up... and I might have just fallen off my bike and on to my face."

I've never been in a situation before where my face tells a story before I can even open my mouth. Granted, all of us give off a "story" about who we are simply by the clothes we wear, the color of our skin, the people we are walking (or not walking) with. But, I feel as though the last few weeks I have been existing in a new realm of being. I've spent the month of November with a black eye and a story to tell. Certainly the "break" I have been pining for for the last few weeks prior to the accident. I can't say that I've enjoyed this whole experience, I'll find myself looking at a mirror and agonizing over whether I can tell if my nose looks different or not (although everyone is insisting it doesn't). I walk around the city with a brimmed hat on in the hopes that the purple bruise currently subletting the space under my eye is over looked as tired bags of exhaustion. I apply cover-up to my face before work, sometimes darkly chuckling over how I'd always prided myself on knowing I wouldn't be in a relationship with a guy who would ever give me a black eye, but managed to get one regardless. Every day small victories are achieved: The first sneeze (My nose didn't fall off!!), The first real laugh (sore, but not painful), The first nose blowing (ahhhhhhhh, I can breathe!!) It feels like I am repairing back to my old self, just with a whole new perspective on how awesome my nose is when it's not broken.

In other news: I haven't heard from, nor contacted Mr. Tall. That's really OK with me. I think back to the wonderful adventures we had, and smile, but don't feel like I need to pursue him further.

I've been dreaming of traveling to wonderfully exotic places and Thailand has been calling my name. Flights there are cheap, and the country itself is cheap to stay in as well. I've been talking with a couple of people who have been there and all of the unanimously told me that Thailand was one of the best places they have ever been. I'm drooling just thinking about it. I'm toying with the idea of going there in March for 4 weeks. There are a ton of back-packers there and I've been given the advice that all one has to do is make friends with some of these people and travel around in packs with them. How Cool!! Sign me up!

Happy Thanksgiving!

The Accident

I looked at the X-Ray for the first time with the Ear, Nose and Throat Doctor in Manhattan. "See: look, it doesn't look like you'll need any surgery. You're nose looks like it will heal perfectly fine." He said pointing to the profile shot of my face. I saw a tiny piece of bone sticking out from my skull, which is supposed to support my nose, it was broken in to three pieces. Holy Cow, I thought. That tiny piece of bone is all that connects my nose to my skull! I saw the outline of my skin and cartilage and jaw. Everything else looked completely normal. I thought back to the panic I felt when the doctor in the ER told me about the results from the X-Ray. I heaved a sigh of relief. So, I don't need surgery to fix anything. It looks like my nose will be fine in a couple of weeks. OK.

I was bike riding in Brooklyn when I got into the accident. Thinking (or, really not thinking) like the super-woman I thought I was, I decided to hop a driveway and avoid a truck that was parked in the middle of the bike lane. Whoops. There goes my front tire, Bike stops moving, and I don't. I definitely got airborne and then stopped my fall with a WHAM and an ugggghhhhhh on my face. Thankfully I was wearing my helmet (jeeze, had I not been...I don't want to think about that outcome). I rolled on to my side and stood up immediately, although I knew instantaneously that something was very wrong with my nose. My knees felt pretty banged up, and my chin was wet, which meant I must have hit that as well. A Jogger (who was the only person in the area) ran up to me and appraisingly looked over my face. "You're chin is a little pink." she said. "Sorry, I don't carry my cell on me when I jog, but there is a BP gas station up the street if you need to call an ambulance?" After assuring her that I was fine I watched her jog off.

I find it interesting how I react when I trip or hurt myself. There is a part of me that takes over, no matter how bad the damage is, that says 'I'M FINE! TOTALLY FINE EVERYBODY WHO SAW THAT! PLEASE DON'T ASK ME HOW I AM BECAUSE I'M FINE! 'K?' when really, I'm not fine, I just don't want the weird looks, the embarrassing stares or the chuckles. Not that there was anyone in the area to really do that the afternoon I broke my nose, but as soon as the jogger ran off I found myself shaking all over. Ok, Nat. How bad is this really? I did a mental check. My nose was bleeding: Not good. My knees were killing me, I must have banged them pretty good. My chin was scraped, but not too bad. My hands... not too bad either. I guess this could be worse. I whipped out my cell and took some pictures of my face. Something is really wrong with my nose. I tried not to panic. I need to get home, except, oh wait... I am in the middle of Brooklyn and 45 minutes from home by bike. Not good.

My Parents were super heroes that day. Within only a few hours I was whisked away from Brooklyn, picked up by car and taken to St. Barnabas Hospital in the 'burbs of Jersey. I was attended to briefly by an ambulance who came to see me in Brooklyn after I realized that the blood streaming from my nose was not something to ignore. But declined a ride to the hospital in Williamsburg. Are you kidding? I am not leaving my bike at the police precinct and then waiting for 6 hours in an ER. No. I'll call in the troops and go to the whiter than white suburbs where the ER visit won't cost me a whole day of my life.

In New Jersey, I was told to sit in a chair and wait for the radiologist. I slumped and stared at my surroundings. I was led in to a room that looked like it was right out of some sci-fi space ship control room. There was a bed and a huge machine that hung from the ceiling. There were a bunch of monitors behind a window and a woman in white kept walking back and forth from examination room to monitor room. Every time she walked in to the monitor room a high pitched laser sound went off and then I saw a picture of an ankle appear on a screen. Wow. That'll be me soon.

"Just stand facing the light, please" I was told. I felt like I was in a police line up. "Right side, please. Now turn to your left and don't move." Where was my ID card with my name that I needed to hold up? I thought about what the point of smiling was. I guess this would be one of the only pictures I could take where it really does not matter what I do with my face. Not that I can really smile anyway, it hurt too much. The thought of not being able to smile made me want to laugh. Everything made me want to laugh. Suddenly not being able to laugh made the effort to not do so almost unbearable. I can only wheeze, which I find pretty funny, so I laugh/wheeze more. "Hold Still!" buzzzzzzzblap! Somewhere a picture of my nose filled a monitor.

As of now, I'm fine. I've got a nice, ripe, purple shiner developing on my right eye, and my knees are pretty bruised, but I'm being treated with a ton of TLC by my family who surrounded me with such a fierce ring of love that I was overcome with emotions a couple of times the last 24 hours. I am so grateful for all the support I got on Facebook and through the phone calls and texts I got. Now I need to come up with a good story about how I got the look of the "Battered wife" I'll be rocking for the next few days...

Spilled Milk

What does one do when the magic disappears? Or, more specifically, what do I do when the magic drains out through some unseen hole in the sidewalk and suddenly I am left making out with a man I am very suddenly not attracted to, on a side street in New York City?

The night went really well! Perfectly... almost. Except, why did I not feel a buzzing, humming feeling of joy and excitement when I looked at Mr. Tall? We went out for dinner at a Thai restaurant and chatted about our days: Yes. wonderful. He's nice and attentive. Great. Liked the friendly laugh he gave me. Check. Oh, he touched my leg! ....Uh...Where's the girly delight?

We walked over to the theatre. He bought tickets to see the Moth Story Telling Slam! WHAT!? That's a wonderful surprise! Check! Oh, he's taken my arm again. How nice, he's such a gentleman. He cares about the fact that I had a headache today. Very Sweet. He's laughing at something I said...uh...Wait. I don't like something here. Why am I not dying to kiss him based on a laugh? Where is the exuberant giddiness that comes from when our eyes meet? Um... CUPID!! Where are you?

We sit down in the Town Hall Theatre on 43rd street. He's got us tickets to a real Broadway event. I love the Moth Storytelling. It's a great experience. He put his hand in mine. That's sweet! He is chatting about the people in the program. Nice. Knows his stuff about the story telling. He's rubbing my back. Like a Boyfriend should, right? ...uh... boyfriend? Did I think that? Do we look like a couple? Maybe that's a good thing. mmmm...no. No, I am not getting a warm fuzzy feeling about that at all, actually. What? Aren't I dying for a boyfriend?!

We go uptown after the fantastic show. He takes me to a cafe for a slice of pie and some jasmin/green tea. We chat about our families. He's so different than me. That's not a bad thing. He's close to his parents. Great. He's into family. Wonderful. I don't care. ...uh... I Don't care? Why don't I care? He's so nice! He really likes me! He really, really likes me. I feel it. But I don't feel the same way I did last time.

We walked out of the cafe and he pulled me in for the kill. I began to kiss him and feel his arms pull me in close. I wanted so badly to want this. I wanted to throw my arms around him with a lover's abandon and give myself over to the romantic street make-out-at-midnight thing that this could have been. But I couldn't make myself feel that. In fact, I felt the opposite. I felt his lips move down my neck and I opened my eyes and looked at the street and felt... nothing. No stir. No "Oh, this feels so nice! And was so badly needed! Take me, I'm yours!" An ambulance squalked by and the lights and noise broke the spell.

Me: Well, I need to go home.

Tall: Ok, It's late. You are taking the train...

Me: Yep.

Tall: It'll take you an hour to get home from here.

Me: Yeah.

Tall: Do you want to go home?

Me: ...uh... What do I say? I want: to want to sleep over. But, the idea of sleeping in my own bed is very appealing. Yeah, I should go home.

Tall: Ok. I have another event planned for our next adventure!

Me: What was that sound? I think my heart just broke... Great! That sounds great!

Tall: Good night, Beautiful.

Me: Good night... (Tall pulls me in for one last kiss) Oh, I feel so mean. So evil. As if I stole Cupid's quiver and snapped each arrow so that all of them were broken on the floor.

I took the train home and while walking back from the station to my apartment I felt lost in thought. I had put on some music so I could let the beats of some monotonous tune drown out the conflicts rattling around in my head. Then suddenly, and without warning I began to laugh. I seriously El Oh Elled. Holy Cow, I thought. I am so very anxious about hurting his feeling that I am inflicting a severe amount of uncomfortable pain on my part. It's not my fault that chemistry was lost between the two of us! It happens. It's nobody's fault. It's OK. He'll get over it. And I learned a lot about what I want from my next relationship. That was good to know. I shouldn't beat myself up. I can listen to the music and enjoy it without guilt associated with everything I do. The remainder of my walk was spent walking to the beat of the song in my ears.

L'chaim!

What does it mean to "act like a child"?

I feel like for many that term has a negative connotation to it, as if you are not acting what is considered appropriate for your age. After today's events, however, I feel quite differently toward that statement.

I think acting like a child is a pure state of unadulterated living. A child sees the world from a different perspective on so many different levels (literally, because they are physically smaller). I feel as though the younger the kid is the more beautiful and strange and wonderful the world can have the potential to be. As an "adult" I feel like much of the time I lose that sense of wonder. However, recently I have been babysitting very young kids and seeing the world through their eyes has been awe-inspiring.

I just started watching a four month old: Viola. She's tiny. I picked her up and walked around the apartment with her and watched as she took in her surrounding. I would carry her over to the wall and say "Yes! Look at that brick! it's rough, want to touch it? Oh, man! What a strange feeling, huh? That is a red brick. Ha ha!" And as I watched her break in to a smile at my reaction to her reaction I laughed at the joy that that moment was and thought: Why can't life be this simple and amazing all the time? Where does the wonder and joy leave life and boring every day "adulthood" take it's place? I don't want to live in a state that says I need to act any way. I want to be and be happy.

I experimented today with what acting on my impulses means. I laughed when I wanted to, I skipped when I felt like I needed to (at the thought that I was going to treat myself to a cookie and tea!) I ate when I was hungry, and sat when I was tired. I spent the large majority of the day outside, in good company with a friend I enjoyed spending company with. I spoke when I wanted and listened when I wanted (and if I didn't feel like listening: I didn't!) I breathed in the air and took large uninhibited sighs and yawns and stretches. When I saw the sun set I stopped and watched it for a while, not feeling like I was silly or "that good girls don't stop and stare at sunsets in the middle of the street...". Nope. I did whatever the hell I wanted. And it felt unbelievable. I felt Brave. Brave and strong and awake. More so than I have felt in a very, very long time.

So: Here's to acting like a child! Like an impulsive, exploratory, rambunctious kid. I am babysitting Viola again tomorrow and I'll have another lesson with her. Then, I'm rounding my evening off with another date with Mr. Tall.

Onward! To Life and living and doing whatever the Hell I want to! Hazzah!