Thursday evening, I had another catering gig. This one was at the South Carolina Aquarium. In addition to get paid for the work, I got delicious food and a free (self-guided) tour of the aquarium. I've seen better aquariums, but it was worth seeing for free. I tried to be considerate of the fish and not eat my shrimp and crab in front of them. It seemed rather cruel.
In my now vast catering experience of three events, I have learned the following:
- If you want to get women on the dance floor, you have to play a line dance type of song. "Cha Cha Slide" is popular, but "Macarena" or "Chicken Dance" will work. Once they've followed a step-by-step dance, they'll stay out there, but it's a ghost town 'til then so you might as well start with it.
- Men will only dance to slow songs, with two exceptions. (1.) They're gay or (2.) They're trying to hook up with a much younger woman and think their dancing makes them seem younger. (It doesn't).
- If you are curious as to the sexual orientation of a date or coworker, play Lady Gaga. Your question will be answered within three seconds.
- If you ever find yourself holding up the thumb, index finger and pinky finger sign for "I love you" while yelling, "Yeah, this is my jam!" when a song from your high school years comes on, you're too drunk to drive.
Fridays treatment was quite early, as I had to leave town immediately afterwards for a funeral. Having been up late the night before working my catering event, I was especially tired, and Dr. Li kept making small talk with me to keep me from dozing. I've gotten so used to the brain tapping and teeth chattering now, that I definitely could have slept the whole time.
The funeral was in the small town of Waynesboro, Georgia, bird dog capital of the world. It was about a three hour drive for me because the route was small highways through tiny speed-trap towns. I pulled over in my rental car twice to stand up and move around, just to stay awake. I really need to get better at this morning thing.
At the service and afterwards, I saw family I hadn't seen in as long as twenty years or more. I met two cousins I'd never met before and caught up on a lot of family gossip. While death is always sad, it was nice for me to escape Charleston for a little while and see loving familiar faces. Mom, Dad, Sis and Bro were all there, as well as in-laws, nieces, a nephew and my fave aunt and cousin. I had to remind myself that they weren't there for me so I wouldn't monopolize all their time, but it brought me as much comfort as I hopefully provided for them.
It was weird seeing a lot of these people, though. The time and distance didn't matter so much, as facebook had kept many of us at least a little connected. That was the problem, though. While I know that not everyone reads everything I post on fb, I knew that probably some of them had been reading my blog. They didn't really know me, per se, but they knew all this oddly personal stuff about me. I really want to talk about it, to be open to questions, but I understand the awkwardness of it. So instead I got mostly generic questions (or no mention at all of The Uncomfortable Topic of Stephanie Having Depression) like "How's the weather in Charleston?" or "When do you get to go home?" I was finally around people and wanted to talk about it, but I think that it was awkward to most people in that way that it might be if you knew a cousin had undergone a sex-change operation. You might wonder, but probably wouldn't feel comfortable asking "So, what's it like having your penis chopped off?" So, I retreated inside myself a little, trying to be invisible in a crowded room.
Saturday, I was still in Waynesboro, and we went to the local Christmas parade. Their high school football team had made it to state championship, so the whole town showed up as the players led the parade. I didn't really want to go, not feeling especially cheery, but mom wanted me to and I wanted to be wherever mom wanted me. I love her and she was hurting from the death. It ended up being a nice day and a fun little parade.
Later, we went to Lights of the South. The event boasts more than four million lights on over 100 acres. I can tell you that, even with mom's need to take a picture of everything and of every person standing at every display, we walked through the entire thing in under an hour, so I'm doubtful of the 100 acre part. There's quite a lot of burned out bulbs in that four million count, too. I will let my pictures speak for themselves as to the quality of the "holiday" lights.
The drive home brought us to Peach Orchard Road in Augusta. That is the exit my "bad" grandpa lived off of, and it gave me a relatively brief sweep of emotion to be there. When I get near there, I have an urge to go to their house, as if seeing it again will bring some sort of closure or answers as to why it all happened. I refrained from asking for the detour, but really wished I could bury my head on mom's chest and be comforted. I had to remind myself that it was my job right now to provide comfort, not to ask for it.
I had noted during the weekend that each family seemed to have its one child that brought the most concern. In each sibling group, there was always one who was financially irresponsible, on drugs, or in some way living on a destructive path. I asked mom when we returned which of her kids she worried about the most. Her answer was me.
My siblings and I are all reasonably responsible at this stage in life. We've all faltered along the way, but none of us have fallen into a pit. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that mom would be most worried about me, but I kind of pride myself on my independence and the fact that she's never had to bail me out of any trouble. Still, I guess it is kind of worrisome when you never know if you're going to get a call that your daughter is dead because she took her own life. That's been a real possibility with me.
Mom didn't really get into any of that, though. She just said that she worried because I travel so much and have an adventurous life, and she doesn't always know where I am and if I'm okay. I suspect she probably worries about me more when I'm in Oak Ridge and she hasn't heard from me in two weeks than when she knows I'm in Guatemala and she hasn't heard from me.
Mom said that she worried less about me when I'm in a relationship. The feminist in me wanted to be offended, but I understood what she meant. Me being in a relationship means me having someone involved in my day-to-day life, so at least someone knows when I'm slipping down the slope. Otherwise, it's just everyone assuming I'm fine until they learn differently in a bad, bad way. I've mentioned before that I'm very good at pretending and hiding my moods, and I think my family knows by now that my saying that I'm fine to them on the phone doesn't necessarily mean that I really am.
Anyway, it was good. It was good to see family. It was good to feel like a part of the family. Sometimes I disconnect myself from that too much. I don't know how to ask for what I need from them, and I don't feel like I contribute anything to them, so I just... leave it alone.
So, it always goes back to the magical question: "Is treatment working?" I wish that it was working so well that I didn't still have to ask the question. It isn't. But it is working well enough that it feels like it's worth hanging in there. No machine can rebuild my self-esteem, it can only help me feel well enough to be able to finally work on that myself. I hope I'm getting there.
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