Jenna's House of Idiosyncrasies Version 10.0 [Focus.]

I'll tell you a secret: I've woken up crying for the past three days. Woken up and just sobbed for 10 or 15 minutes.

This is strange behavior under any circumstances, but especially strange because today—the third day I've woken up wondering why I bother to ever get out of bed—is my birthday. I am 22 years old today. And I've been having one of the worst weeks I've had in awhile.

If it wasn't the crippling low, it was an equally crippling bout of anxiety that lasted for my entire workday on Wednesday—nearly 8 hours of tense muscles, rapid heartbeat and difficulty breathing—that only slightly let up after I got home and incoherently babbled to Abie about nothing that I can remember now. It's been not wanting to ever get out of bed, preferring to hide in the dark and not face the world.

Here's where I need to point out that trying to hide from the world and having a birthday at the same time are totally incompatible. Even though I didn't even think they knew about my birthday at the time, Crystal and Amanda showed up at my house on Saturday night (from out of state, no less) and forced me to go a show with them, even though I had no other goals for the night than to curl up into a ball on the couch and try to disappear.

I got out of my pajamas, took a shower, and put on a show of my own: the one where I am happy and normal and not incredibly depressed.

We went to Flicker. My roommates Emily and Melissa were already there. Michael Flynn played lots of mushy love songs. He's actually fantastic, but felt distracted and in a daze.

Between sets Abie showed up, and then Bill Carson played. He's equally fantastic, and writes really sexy music, and the whole time I was thinking about how I needed to get the hell outta there into the open air, away from the crowds. I did not want to be around people at that moment.

After the set I got up and dashed out, and Abie came and found me. I related to her nearly everything, how I felt like shit, smothered by my life, that things, at 22, where not going at all the way I wanted.

Saying it aloud did help, just a little.

Just after midnight we gathered roommates and house guests and all ten of us went to the Grill.

We were all being goofy, taking pictures of each other, generally making too much of a ruckus, when spontaneously all nine people seated with me sang me Happy Birthday. It was simultaneously special, embarrassing, and the exact opposite of imperative-be-ye-not-social.

I probably needed it.

I woke up late today. My Dad called me while I was still in bed, contemplating the work ahead of me, and invited me to Winder to have dinner. I told him I had too much studying to do. He said he would come to Athens and feed me on a study break.

I got in the shower, further putting off studying, and realized there was no way I was going to pass the test on Tuesday. I got out of the shower, got online, and dropped the class.

I called my Dad. “I don't have to study anymore. I dropped it.”

“You sound ten times better than you did when I talked to you before.”

My sister and I went to Winder to eat Zaxby's with Dad. Choices in Winder are slim, see. Being in Winder made me feel kind of relaxed for some reason. Sarah and Dad talked a lot about music theory. Dad made his usual quota of bad jokes, and Sarah talked about her recent admission to a fancy music school. It was good to not be talking about myself for awhile.

When I came home at least 3 roommates blocked me from the kitchen and told me I needed to get in my room. This is a customary Apartment 6 birthday greeting.

A few minutes later, they called me into the living room. You will never guess what my cake looked like. It was the Best Thing Ever.

After I blew out the candles Abie asked me to sit down.

“We have to tell you something about your present. We all went in on something for you but it's on backorder, so you'll have to wait.”

“You guys did that for me?”

It's really awesome to find out your roommates were planning something behind your back, as long as it's not your demise.

Allison: “If you want something to unwrap I can wrap something for you—like the Prince of Weasels.”

Catie: “The Prince of Weasels is not for giving away.”

Allison: “Oh.”

I love both my families. Not because they buy me things or make me iPod cakes or pick beautiful pink flowers out for me, but because I've got people pulling for me even when things seem dark and inescapable. They love me even if I am a grump for a whole week, and they think about me even when I'm not standing there in front of them. I've been up in my own head a lot lately and forgot that I'm in a lot of other people's heads too.

I had not intended to go out last night. I was going out, but the plan was not to “go out”—I was going to run down to Lunch Paper and see the Outfit play at about 9:30, then get some real food (as my body was reeling from eating cheesecake for breakfast and a small bowl of mashed potatoes for lunch), bring it home to eat and watch a movie. I was going to take it easy, maybe having a glass of Bailey's for dessert.

I don't know why I bother to construct plans for myself. I don't follow through with my own resolve.

Melissa called to ask me if I was bringing anyone with me (to gauge how big of a table we might need) and named off the existing members of the party thus far. One member was particulary of interest to me, and I decided I would not be returning home right after the show. So I made myself a small, quick sandwich, chomped it down while getting ready, brushed my teeth and was out the door.

[An aside: I somehow got out of paying the $3 cover at Lunch Paper. I'm not certain how; I just walked up the doorguy, said “Hey.” and he said “Hey.” and smiled and gestured for me to go inside, no id check or cover necessary. I have my suspicions why, however, and it bolstered my self esteem. Thankfully, it would be deflated again in a matter of minutes.]

I ordered my first Long Island and sat down with my group. We couldn't see the band (the set up of Lunch Paper is such that if people are standing in front of the “stage”, there is no way you are going to see the performance from any other part of the bar) but we grooved anyway. Emily, Greg and Danny threw Reese's Pieces at one another while Melissa and I watched. I protected my Long Island from target practice, but others were not so lucky with thier beverages, and soon there was candy in beer, which I imagine, doesn't actually taste that good.

“It's like babysitting children!” Melissa mused.

“Three drunk children.” I pointed out.

“Aw, my three drunk children.”

“You're such a great mom.”

After the set the four of us walked outside to meet Abie, and then the whole group walked back up Washington Street discussing what we should do now. No one had any good ideas, and we ended up standing at the corner of College and Washington, in front of the smoke shop, talking about how cold we all were and watching Emily, Danny, and Greg try to do handstands. Emily actually does a decent handstand, even after a Long Island Iced Tea.

Finally, I made a decision. We headed to Washington Street Tavern. We went in, and I went to use the restroom while everyone else went downstairs where it was (presumably) less crowded. I headed down there, hit the last step, was greeted with a definitely less-than-pleasant smell, and my whole group came towards me, declaring that they can't stay here. I concurred, and we walked back outside, way back to the other end of town to Flicker. At Flicker, I got a terribly made $7 Long Island, and we sat outside chatting it up. I stood against the railing, smoking. I finished my drink quickly and began (unconsciously, I swear) leaning towards the gentleman I'm interested in. He began (consciously, I'm sure) leaning away. This did not make me happy. You see, I was trying to re-enact some previous events involving this gentleman, and he was having none of it.

I foolishly held out hope as we headed to Room 13. I started a tab, bought myself my third Long Island, and then waltzed over to where my group was playing foosball, and attempted to buy the gentleman a drink. He declined. If it was obvious that nothing was going to happen before, it was definitive now. So I did as I've been conditioned to, and attempted to drown my sorrows. I bought another Long Island. I had barely started it when my group decided they we were leaving, so despite insistence that there was no need to finish it, I gulped the whole drink as my roommates watched in horror.

That is how Abie came to be sitting on the bathroom floor with me at 3:00 am. I wasn't so sick that my stomach was compelled to get the contents out, rather, I was compelled to get the contents out of my stomach, and did so by mostly by sheer will, but with the aid of a functioning gag reflex. Abie, further proving her qualification for sainthood, fed me water and crackers, brought me my pajamas, put up with my terrific moaning and talked to me for a long time until she was sure I was fit for bed. I continuously apologized for needing to be cared for and she pointed out that this was only the second time since we had been living together that I have been so sick I couldn't care for myself. This made me feel better, but not less rejected.

I'm going to be avoiding booze for at least a little while. This morning I woke up still feeling residual effects of three days of heavy drinking. I quiped to Abie in frustration, “My legs say, ‘I don't work!’ and I say ‘Yeah you do! I'm sober now, hello?!?’ My head's not drunk but my body refuses to accept it.”