2001-10-21 - 8:51 a.m.
The events of the past couple of weeks have left me without the ability to handle stress. At the slightest hint of adversity I fall apart. I nearly lost it in Banana Republic because they didn't have my size in Khakis. It's only a pair of pants I'm sure that the sales clerk was thinking, what's with this guy? And I wanted to smack the smugness off his face when he mentioned that they had extended sizes available online. Normally I apreciate that retail stores for mens clothing usually have gay sales reps, because I want to look good in my clothes, and who better to apreciate. But this time round I wanted to smack him about the face to hear his girlish screams. What's wrong with me I thought? Are the Gods of Corporate America punishing me because I couldn't make my regular apointment and so got my hair cut at Supercuts instead of the Aveda concept salon I normally frequent? Or maybe because I bought a knit shirt at Old Navy on sale? Fighting back the emotions, I spot a Starbucks. A few deep breaths of the familiar coffee scented air and a soy latte later I'm feeling better and head over the Ralph Lauren store to buy myself a little confidence for Monday. Then my cell phone battery gives out, and I'm supposed to meet friends at 6:30. A sense of panic nearly overwhelms me. Mostly because I'll have to use a payphone and the horror of that thought sends a rush of adrenaline through me, and I get very calm. Suddenly a course of action opens up for me. There is a Cingular store just down from the Starbucks. I pop in, and talk with the sales person about updating my phone. I use a demo model to call my friends and let them know that my phone is dead and I'll meet them outside the theater at 6:30, no problems, then let the sales guy talk me into waiting for the new Nokia's to come out at the end of November, buy a phone charger for the car and leave. So I managed to persavere and all that. But then last night I couldn't get to sleep with worry about what a wuss I have become. Something needs to happen or change to get me back up on top, where I feel in control, and can rely on my Arian looks, sharp wit, and systems knowledge rather than hiding behind designer labels, technogadgets and baked goods for approval. What a mess. I just can't believe what a mess I am. It's embarrasing. I'm like one of those rich old ladies who lock thier car doors when they see a black person, live in gated communities and shop for gifts through the Harriet Carter catalog. I guess that everyone on my list will be getting fiberoptic displays, Dale Earnhardt tribute items, and t-shirts that self depreciatingly comment on their baldness, weight issues, or the ethnicity.
Zen and don't cry out loud - 2007-07-29
Zen and the stumbling rocks of fitness - 2007-07-19
- - 2007-07-11
Zen and fasting - 2007-06-20
Zen and hiccups - 2007-06-18
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