I should have left a suicide note with Kate Nash being my last post and all. What nerve. lol.
If I honestly didn't love Downtown LA so much, I would have never put myself through the torture that were the last three weeks. For the sake of not ruining TGIF forever, I will only give you a brief synopsis, and spare you all of the anxiety-inducing details.
I finally moved out of Jersey Shore Tower and found the PERFECT place in the Historic Core. The move was horredous. As most DTLA residents know, the logistics of moving anywhere in DTLA is a fucking nightmare. There is no pulling into your own driveway - you have to pray to god that no one is parked in the loading zone. We wish it was as easy as unloading and walking right up to your front door - We usually realize how absurd we were for even considering living on the 5th floor upon moving in. My point is that moving in general is a pain in the ass, let alone moving in DTLA.
The first move was such a cliché. The couch was too big for the elevator, so it was hand carried five flights of stairs only to discover it was too big to get OUT of the stairwell. The movers had to carry it back down and up another stairwell before they could finally bring into the apt. It took 8 hours to move a few city blocks. A few days later, I had to prep for the second move which was the office. Like the apt, the move was within DTLA so while technically easier, it was still stressful.
In between that is my current quarter life crisis, where I've basically realized that my life is different from most people's. I'm adjusting to a lot of firsts and that's very strange. And of course this saga wouldn't be complete if my personal relationships didn't take a hit when so much stress is being flung around like Naomi's Blackberry.
There is one noteworthy detail worth sharing - I fainted. Straight up fell to the floor. For weeks I had this tension building in my shoulders and neck, but I was too focused on prepping for the moves that I basically ignored it. On this particular day, I was exhausted and in a foul mood. At one point I became so overwhelmed by a particular situation that I became light-headed and passed out. I got up within 10 seconds but I was so mentally and physically depleted that I slept off the entire day.
I always heard people telling me to "slow down" but I always disregarded it. Not in a flippant go to hell kind of way, but in a "that doesn't apply to me" kind of way. The thinking behind this was that those who succumb to exhaustion are usually working 80 hours a week and constantly traveling. You know, like Lady Gaga or Kim Kardashian, whenever she's christening a new Arby's.
It literally made no sense to me up until that moment. I work out 5 times a week and I'm fit. I'm a strong guy. For me to lose complete control was very scary and jarring.
This is basically the part in the movie where I begin to go on walks and stare off into the sunset while The Cranberries play in the background. I went back to basics. I ate on time, slept well, made sure I was drinking a lot of water, and most of all, not stressing myself out. I had a massage yesterday and it was so painful that I had to mentally tell myself to shut the fuck up several times because I was on the verge of yelling. I could feel and hear my muscles breaking up as she massaged my back and shoulders. I feel a physical difference in my upper body and it's telling of how far stress can go before it shows up.
At least now the moves are over and everything, while not completely settled, is in its proper place. And the new office space is kick ass if I do say so myself. I happened to design the entire thing, so it's been really cool to see it come together.
I feel that I still need a proper vacation, but Coachalle's next week, so that's going to habe to wait!