I’ve written and re-written this post a few times already. I mainly write this blog for myself and if others read it, that’s cool too. Sometimes I write things I shouldn’t, and I’ve most likely offended people. I’m sorry. I’m a truth teller and it does get me in trouble at times. I say things no one wants to admit or sometimes wants to hear at all. I’ll be 39 on july 10 and I’m dreading it a little. Not so much the age, but the pressure of having to “celebrate.” I’d rather just be left alone. I think. This isn’t where I saw my life at this stage, although I can see that I have made progress. I think I need to chill out more and not care so much. but I would have preferred to have a loving partner in my life who i could spend this holiday weekend and my birthday with. But that’s not the case. I have slowly been putting myself out there for dating, but no one has asked me out yet. My parents are back in the US and we decided to spend the long weekend together. I had a lot of anxiety leading up to it. Not only is it not entirely comfortable to travel with my aging parents, but they don’t have a car and I knew we would need to use mine. We also weren’t sure where to go. Often my dad can use someone’s country house, but he didn’t ask anyone. We decided on a town near Hudson, called Catskill. I didn’t know anything about it. My mother found an Airbnb called “Old Soul.” It‘s a recording studio where many great albums were recorded, like tracy bonham and Johnny society. When I saw the listing, I immediately felt it wasn’t right. I could tell. But mum was adamant and my dad wanted her to be happy. I was pressured to agree to it. the day started out tense. It was very hot and I’d driven from queens to Brooklyn to pick up my parents and to see my niece Margot, who is nearly 1. It was a nice idea but Margot cried most of the time and I got very triggered by seeing my sister, as usual. she broke my heart this year and I still have a traumatic response when I’m around her. Really sad for me.
My parents and I arrived at the Airbnb and it just wasn’t very nice. It was cluttered, smelled funny and the bedrooms weren’t a good fit for any of us. One room had a twin bed and no air conditioner. My dad took that room. he paid a lot of money for the Airbnb and he got the crappiest room. My room wasn’t much better for me. I realize I am an entitled jerk for complaining, but I’m trying to describe how weird it was to show up at this place, with my mom pretending everything was cool. My dad was more honest. I don’t need to harp on the details, but there were quite a few things that weren’t a good fit. I don’t think my mom actually read the description, although she claims to have worked on this for a long time.
long story short, I had a few meltdowns and it was pretty hard for me to come to terms with what was happening. I called the host of the Airbnb and to let him know about my feedback. At first he seemed perturbed by my call, but after some time, we understood each other. Talking to him helped me appreciate the eccentricities of the house. It’s not where I would have chosen to say, but perhaps it chose me. I’m working on my book and there’s a lot of creative energy in here. So, carpe diem, motherfuckas.
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