Thursday, January 31, 2013

Week of pain

Last week I got another injection from Dr. Dashing. Supposedly to "numb" the pain I've been having since the last Hyalgan injection in early December. The next day my knees hurt, and then they were fine until three days ago, when I woke up and standing was excruciating.

I've been off work for three days. Dr. Dashing didn't have an appointment available until tomorrow, and what's worse, I've called him three times and he has not called back. I'm pretty angry, but more scared. Because the pain is as unendurable as it was last May.

I don't know what's going to happen. I'm no longer quite so sure he can help me. While this is helping me get completely over my crush on him, I'm afraid of 1) losing my job and 2) never being able to walk again without pain for the rest of my miserable life.

It's been a bad week. I'm trying not to blame myself for wearing sexy boots to the weird party I went to Saturday night. People say it's worth just getting out of the house -- but not if you waste $20 on cabfare, eat inflammatory food, talk to creepy guys, and get ignored by the moderately attractive ones.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Monday, January 28, 2013

A very weird party

I love Sephardim, but they are not punctual. This past Saturday night I was invited to celebrate the birthday of an acquaintance. I figured, Shabbos is over by about 6, so the party will start around 8, I'll get there at 9, fashionably late.

I walked in and was greeted by the host in his undershirt and some very undesirable men. How undesirable? Listen to what they asked me.

"Do you need an accountant?" Not, "Hi, my name is Joe and I'm an accountant."

"No, thanks," I said, backing off slightly. Not everyone gets the concept of personal space, especially when you're trying to sell but not over-sell your product.

"So why didn't you bring us any young girls?" Asked by another man with gray hair and a long, distinct vertical dent in his forehead. Could have been a scar or a metal plate.

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"You know, you're a girl, so you should be bringing us other young girls. Eighteen, nineteen, twenty years old," he grinned. Totally, totally creepy. I smiled uneasily. If he was trying to be funny, I really didn't get his sense of humor.

"Eat something, Ayelet!" said the host. There were several types of kuba and some unappetizing mini-pizzas. All inflammatory, of course, but I had a few bites. Eventually more people showed up, including some of the women I went on the cruise with a few years ago.

I didn't get to know Cheryl very well on the cruise. I knew she was a single mother. I didn't realize that she's about as sad and desperate as I am when it comes to getting married. She complained that she went on a tour of the major graves in Israel to daven for a husband, but no luck. I didn't share that I've either done or delegated people to do similar things, also to no avail. I couldn't believe how pathetic she seemed to me, and yet she wasn't saying anything I haven't said.

"Keeping Shabbos all day long is almost impossible when you have a child and you're alone," she complained. "It's so difficult to keep him entertained all day."

"Keeping Shabbos is a lot easier when you have a family," I sympathized, and yet I thought she was a loser. What does that say about me, other than denial has deep roots?

I felt frustrated, because despite chatting up several men, none of them asked for my phone number. I must need remedial flirting tutorials. Every event I go to I manage to talk to someone new, and yet none of them express any interest.

I have been getting some set-up offers, but they seem unappealing. One is a 48-year-old widower with three children who is "on the heavy side," as the would-be matchmaker acknowledged. I'm a little wary of him. Maybe he's lovely, or maybe he's enormous.

Another matchmaker sent me a photo of a man without any hair. No hair on his scalp, no eyebrows. Allegedly he lost his hair due to "stress." I really, really doubt it. That kind of hair loss usually has medical causes, like chemotherapy. Am I completely arrogant to think I deserve better than this?
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"

Thursday, January 10, 2013


Seasonal affective disorder, like other kinds of depression, makes everything much harder to accomplish. Thinking. Brushing teeth. Showering. Getting dressed. Getting a manicure. Supervising 16 counselors and trying to provide social services for a ridiculous number of patients. Facilitating groups. Especially facilitating groups. That is a struggle when I'm feeling completely well, and now it's verging on torture.

So why did I volunteer to give a d'var Torah at a singles dinner tomorrow night? I dunno. I gave one last year that was well received, but I gave it in November right after the time change, not January, when I'm mired deep in depression.

Scanning the Torah portion and reading other divrei Torah online almost sent me into a panic. I couldn't relate to anything the writers were saying. I wanted to be funny yet trenchant, but nothing came to mind. Then I sat down, wrote an initial sentence, and flowed back into creative mode. Even though I'm in my underwear and I need to take a shower, I wrote a kick-ass dT. Not just my opinion but that of the friends I showed it to. (Email me if you want a copy.)

So even when I'm Harrison Bergeron, I'm pretty damn awesome. Screw the agency that interviewed me in  December and never called back. It's their loss.
Copyright (c) "Ayelet Survivor"