The relative dignity of not being noticed

cystalize

There are plenty of times you want to be noticed.

There are many times you wish not to be noticed.

This blog post is about the latter.

Once, about 15 years ago I had to leave the office early because of food poisoning. You know that feeling. Headache escalates. Nausea grows. You calculate if you can get home before your vomit, or if you should wait until you vomit and then make your way home. I'd decided to make my way home before heaving up the Chinese food from the night before.

I was working in Manhattan and going home meant a 45 minute subway ride to Brooklyn. I decided I could do it. To tell you how sick I felt, I'll tell you this: I didn't ask my boss if I could leave, I told my boss I would leave. (I'm old school and generally I don't "tell" my bosses anything. Often to my detriment but that's another blog post.)

I left the office, made way to my train stop, and sat miserably as we snaked through the bowels underneath the city. I made it as far as Canal Street, about five stops or so, when the heat of stomach bile steeped in my throat. I would be throwing up soon. Vomiting on the train seemed like a pretty low option. Vomiting on the station platform was a far more desirable choice and that's what I did. Next stop I barely slithered off the train and upchucked my guts all over the platform as others moved off the train, upchucked more as the train departed, and upchucked more as people gathered to catch the next train. No one noticed. No one cared. No one removed their bored facial expressions. No one even looked up from their reading material.

In hind site, I could be wrong because how would I have known if anyone noticed or not? I was staring straight into my own puke, prepping for more heaving. Still, at least the perception of not being noticed was a glorious experience. I gave thanks to God that I wasn't in the Midwest where strangers would have rushed up to me asking how they could help. I got on the next train that came by 15 minutes later, feeling sorry for whoever would discover the puddle of my stomach contents and be forced to clean it up. I hoped that some hungry rodents might get to it first. I went home and lay in bed all day, grateful that my personal pride remained mostly in tact thanks to the anonymity.

Yesterday was another day I was glad to not be noticed. The occasion: crying at my desk at work. The tears flowed steadily for hours as much as I tried to stop them. My alibi would be allergies, had anyone asked. No one did. No one noticed. And I was grateful. At least I could be somewhat alone in my misery. Old school me at work again -- since my body wasn't spewing vomit or blood or a communicable disease, I didn't feel justified in leaving. Plus, the whole point of being in the office was the cause of my crying so it would've been doubly stupid to go home.

I vowed not to blog about this, but here I am. The self discipline lasted about 36 hours for it was yesterday morning when my family pulled out of the driveway on their way to a Brooklyn spring break without me, because of my "vacation time snafu." Let's leave it at that. It's probably my own damn fault for wanting to go to grad school. I want it all, evidently. When I realized I couldn't go to spring break, of course I insisted that my family go without me. There was no choice. At the last minute Bob, feeling really bad, reconsidered the trip, and I said, go!

But I tell you, when that dented up silver Buick pulled out of the driveway I wasn't thinking about all the things I'd been wanting to do for at least two years. I wasn't thinking about sleeping, reading, watching TV, catching up on movies, or cooking. I wasn't thinking about progressing my book or my essays. I wasn't thinking about the quiet I've longed for, the slowness I've craved, the solitude I've missed. Nor the yoga, biking, or walking I've been badly wanting to do. Nor eating while sitting down, taking normal showers, hanging up my clothes, brushing my teeth longer than 30 seconds, or picking up all the crap on the floor of my car. I wasn't thinking about the 100 miles per hour I've been living too long and how I would have some so called down time.

I was only thinking that I wanted nothing more, positively nothing more, than to be crammed into that car full of stuff on it's way to a cheap motel in Ohio en route to Brooklyn, New York. I only wanted to be with my three lifelines. In that moment when the nerdy suburban sedan drove away from me, my priorities suddenly crystallized. My husband. My daughter. My son. That's all I wanted.

"It isn't normal to know what we want. It is a rare and difficult psychological achievement." -- Abraham Maslow. I saw this on my twitter feed today and it occurred to me that I may be experiencing this kind of "rare psychological achievement." Not that I want to. This truth is surely, sadly known already among those those of you who have lost a lifeline. You just want him back. You want her back. It's crystal clear.

So I played mind games and cried all morning, in relative dignity. I'm better now. But still playing mind games. Working on a way to heave-ho the sick feeling without anyone noticing. I've got some ideas. And I've got a little help from my friends. (Awesome, incredible, amazing friends, by the way. Thanks all! xoxo)

Thanks for coming over to the Charmer blog.

With love, T