Thanksgiving Day Anxiety

Going strictly on the title of this blog entry you might think I was nervous about Thanksgiving; perhaps anxious about the consistency of my mashed potatoes. But no, that’s not what the title means. I had an anxiety attack at approximately 4:30 in the morning Thanksgiving Day. I am prone to having them; anxiety attacks. I’ve had about a dozen of them over the years, the first coming when I was a brand-new college freshman at Cornell.

For anyone who does not know what a full-blown anxiety attack is like, well, it’s akin to spending anywhere from fifteen minutes to perhaps a half hour trapped in a nightmare. I remember that first one I had. I was completely unfamiliar with them. I wasn’t even sure I was having an anxiety attack, or if it was a horrifying mental condition with no end in sight. This might sound utterly crazy, but I thought to myself that if the terror did not pass within some given amount of time -like a half hour or so- I was going to kill myself, actually commit suicide. It was that awful.

The one good thing about my first anxiety attack is that I became familiar with them. I learned that as dreadful as they are, they will pass eventually. Marty, my boyfriend, was sleeping with me on the occasion of this latest attack. I quietly got out of bed, left the bedroom and closed the door behind me. I went into my apartment’s main room, turned on the lights and clicked on the TV with the sound down low. I was trying to occupy my mind best I could until the nightmare passed. And like all my other anxiety attacks, it did finally pass. I then turned off the lights and the TV, and went back to bed. The next morning I told Marty that I spent a time during the middle of the night suffering from an anxiety attack. I then described to him what they are like. He asked me why I did not wake him. I told him very calmly that there was no need; that I have learned to handle them on my own. Also, one thing I have found that is worse than having a full-blown panic attack: having a full-blown panic attack with someone there worriedly annoying me.     

My Half Hour At Coldsprings Park

Anyone who has ever read this idiotic blog would know I am a nature-loving, outdoors person. I do not spend as much time in the outdoors when the weather turns chilly, but in a lot of ways I like being out there just as much.

There is much less for me to see this time of the year when compared to the summer months. Most of the birds have migrated south. The amphibians have all disappeared too. It has been a month since I have found a colorful beetle clinging to a leaf, waiting to be examined. But the quietness of the late autumn forest can be wonderfully surreal. There are no crickets chirping. No trilling tree frogs. The songbirds are few, and the ones still around are mostly quiet for unless there is danger lurking, they have no reason to sound-off. Even the trees themselves seem more peaceful what with no leaves to be shaken by the breeze.

Yesterday I took an impromptu detour on my way home from work and stopped by Coldsprings Park. I strolled away from the parking lot and went out on a walking trail that meandered through the trees. At one point I stopped and gazed about in every direction. The underbrush is now gone, ravaged by cold temperatures. Looking up, there is no longer a forest canopy. This time of year the sky is easily visible through the near-desolate branches overhead, and will remain visible until May. It was not a beautiful day for a hike, but I found it enjoyable, if only for a half hour or so, just standing among the eerily silent trees.

A Record-Setting Evening

It is not yet 9 in the morning and Marty, my boyfriend, has already left my apartment to go off with a couple of his friends to a shooting range somewhere. He does not own a gun but a number of his friends do. In fact, I think one of his friends owns a crossbow. I’m not even sure I know what a crossbow is. I guess it isn’t the thing that goes across the strings of a viola.  

Anyway, yesterday; I had a good day yesterday at work. Work was free of incident and any kind of trauma. Beth, my friend and coworker, and I went out for an early lunch at a Chipolte’s. Meanwhile Marty had taken half the day off to take his daughter to the dentist. He was home by 4 in the afternoon.

Yesterday evening Marty came by at 7. I was dressed to go out to dinner but Marty had other ideas. It would seem he was very well rested, having just a 4 hour work day. As for myself; I was in a good, fun-loving mood. The end result was that we ended up frenetically “doing it” on my sofa with both of us remaining half dressed (the top half). I won’t say that it was a wildly satisfying exercise, but it was nevertheless erotic in its way, and unquestionably fun.

Afterwards I went into my bathroom to straighten up. When I turned out the bathroom light and stepped out the door into the hallway, Marty was there waiting for me with a big grin on his face. He said simply, “I would really like an encore.”

I sort of smiled and replied “Now?”

He met now. This time we went about it in a calmer, less crazed manner. We removed our clothes and even went into the bedroom, believe it or not. Still, in less than ten minutes, Marty asked me if he could “let loose” knowing that I was still sexually unsatisfied, so to speak. I told him that it would be okay, but then jokingly added that he would owe me.

A short while later, we were lying there together on the bed, discussing something unimportant while exchanging the occasional kiss and sensual caress, when Marty announced that he would like to do it yet again. I think I gave him a few seconds of a blank stare before uttering something like, “You’re kidding.” One quick glance to his lower anatomy and I could tell that he was not kidding.

I thought I might be getting a little tired and worn down, given this was our third performance of the evening, but it turned out I had more energy than I thought. For me, it was the best, most fulfilling endeavor of the four… yes, four we achieved during the evening. I should clarify that between #3 and #4 we had a pizza delivered and #4 came a few hours later. Still, it was for me a single evening performance record. Much to my surprise, this morning I am none the worse for wear following last evening’s marathon.  

I should add that I am actually kind of hesitant to put something like this in my goofy blog, but the simple fact is; I’ve just got to tell someone. I should also state that I am a bit worried about Marty and all these guns he’ll be around today. Guns worry me. I hope he does not accidentally get shot. I suppose I can take some comfort in knowing that if the worst mishap were to happen, I’ll know that he did not go to his grave sexually unfulfilled.   

From Marty's Girl, Spec

Okay, so Marty has read past blog entries and so it wasn’t totally his idea, still, I am happy I’ve got my nickname; the title of endearment to be used exclusively by Marty. The nickname is “Spec”.

Its genesis began a few days before my birthday. Sometime about then Marty referred to my birthday as my “special day”. On my birthday this evolved into my being called “Special K”. Apparently Special K is too long a name for anyone to use so Marty decided to shortened it. He first tried simply “K”, but after a short trial he thought “K” sounded not only too much like a real female name, but a female name other than my own. That evening he christened me “Special”. But I guess “Special” is still too long and is not suitable to quickly summon my attention when needed because “Spec” (pronounced speck) has been the moniker used.

Spec has been employed for several days now and is becoming a name of habit in Marty’s usage. In fact, I called him earlier today and said “Hi, this is Katie”, and he replied “who?” For a few seconds I was confused. Then I giggled and stated I was Spec. Of course he then knew immediately I was the caller.

As I said in a previous blog entry; I like having an affectionate nickname. And I am glad this one is unique.  

Potato Chips From a Vending Machine

I ate lunch out of the vending machines today. I had a meatball sub, a bag of potato chips and a diet Coke. When I was buying the potato chips I had a recollection, sort of like déjà vu, but I have had this remembrance before, although not for several years. The recollection was of one of my early heroes, and his heroic act. To be honest, to me he is still something of a hero.

When I was a little girl of about 6 years old a nearby community center was holding a ballet recital. My friend, her big sister, and I wanted to go so my mother volunteered to drive us there and drop us off. I probably would not have been old enough to go except for the older girl who was with us. Anyway, my mother gave me 75 cents for a snack, if I got hungry.

Well, I became hungry as soon as we entered the building and marched by the vending area. At the recital’s first intermission I climbed out of my chair and traveled to the vending area. I put a couple of quarters into a machine and pushed the button to buy a bag of potato chips. The only problem was; nothing happened. I was not completely set on potato chips so I pushed another button for a different snack. Again, nothing happened. The machine remained silent. I finally pushed the coin return button, but the machine stayed quiet.

About that time a scruffy, older boy came by. I stood back as he dropped his coins into the machine. He pushed a button and not only did he get his snack, but the coin return sent him an additional 50 cents. Naturally I knew the money was mine but what could I do, I was a little girl and the boy was both big, and dusty.

The boy gleefully hooted “Jackpot!” as he stared at his small, newfound fortune. He then placed the money into a plastic coin purse, pushed the coin purse into his pocket, gave me one final, quick glance, and then marched away.

Saddened, I turned and started back for the auditorium. But I traveled only a few steps when the same boy grasped my arm and turned me around. For a second or two I was scared, but then the boy calmly asked me if I had lost the fifty cents in the machine. A smile sprang to my face and I nodded. The boy pulled out his coin purse and poured its entire contents into his hand’s palm. There was about 80 cents, and a few mysterious odds and ends. The boy pointed to one of the quarters and said, “Well here’s your problem. You were trying to use a Canadian quarter. They don’t work in machines, at least not machines in America.” The boy then put two American quarters into the machine and instructed me to push the button I wanted. A few seconds later I was holding my bag of potato chips. The boy gave me a little pat on the shoulder, turned and walked away. I did not even thank him.

It might seem like a small thing, but that magnanimous gesture of sacrificing a jackpot stayed with me through all of my childhood. Even today I remember the occasion, especially when I happen to buy a bag of potato chips out of a vending machine. I sometimes wonder what ever happened to the boy. He is probably a good-natured, honest man with modest financial means. I can tell you this; I would buy him a bag of potato chips in a heartbeat. I owe him that, and a whole lot more.