So for those of you who may not know, by this time next week I will have already been in NYC for two days, and will be there for another two beyond, because I'll be at the BlogHer Conference. You know, the one I was supposed to go to two years ago but it was 13 days before my due date with Tova and my doctors were all YOU'RE HIGH RISK HAHAHA VERY FUNNY NO PLANE FOR YOU and I was very sad.
I mean, the fact that Tova was nine days late kind of compounded that, too, because we were FINE, but she was pretty awesome to finally meet and I guess it was nice to be able to do that all at home and not, you know, four states away and completely by myself.
I'm at the freaking out point.
Not because I'm nervous about meeting new people or anything -- these last couple of ventures for Charles and Hudson have quelled most of my social anxiety because I seem to hold my own just fine (if I don't overly talk about my kids because, well, I guess I'm one of those people). And I'm not nervous about NYC because I've been there a handful of times before, maybe not completely on my own like this, but in twosomes with newbies which can be pretty much like going alone. I'm not nervous about the sessions or the expo floor because I feel like this will be at the very least informative to me, if not damn near epic and the parties are no sweat because, again, my latest ventures to LA and Orlando (and a recent local event with a friend of mine) proved to me that people will talk to me and I can be interesting for however long is required of me.
I'm just nervous.
I'm not someone who travels easily, mostly because I'm so used to being here, in my home, ALL OF THE TIMES, that the idea of packing enough for five days (and nights of parties) in a suitcase that I'm going to have to suck up and pay the checked bag fee for because HAHAHA I NEED MY THINGS WITH ME is something I simultaneously am constantly doing in my head and am dreading with the marrow in my bones because, inevitably, I will forget something, and NYC is not a cheap place to pick up forgotten things. It's not even the usual clothes stuff feeling of nothing to wear -- I actually think I'm okay on that front.
It's the goddamn toiletries.
Because on my way back from LA some TSA agent was a dickwad to me and I was so sick with a bleeding double ear infection and he wanted me to take things back to my car and wasn't understanding that I didn't drive there, that I was going home, and I'd had no problem with my toiletry amount any other time and I'd flown just the month before but he talked to me like I was a freaking child and shamed me loudly and openly until I cried just standing there, alone, sick, and wanting nothing more than my own bed and trying to figure out why he had to make a big stink about what all my toiletries were for, specifically, and how many I may or may not have in plastic baggies depended on their uses.
It was awful.
Then, to top it off, the TSA searched my bags on the way home and managed to pop open my full-size toner and let it spill everywhere in the not-closed Ziploc I'd very carefully secured it, CLOSED, in before I left, and it ruined three pieces of clothing because it leaked all over their stupid "hey we rifled through your undies" note they leave, which bled blue ink all over a white shirt and grey dress, staining them.
So. I'm a girl who thrives on her products, from face wash to shampoo and because I have the most temperamental, sensitive skin out there (like if the pH balance in THE AIR is wonky, I get hives), swapping out temporarily is like begging for some new mystery rash to break out as soon as I land. And that's the last way I want BlogHer to go down, with me miserable covered in a rash I can't treat with all the wrong products with me to even make things manageable.
I'm stressed about beauty products, about having the stuff I need that doesn't come in TSA-approved containers, and about legitimately the sheer amount of make-up I would ideally like to have with me, which is pretty much nothing short of a train case but not practical to take with me ... gahgahgah, this is how my anxiety is manifesting.
I'm not even that freaked out that I don't really have money to eat on when I get there. THAT'S how jacked my priorities are.
(I am, however, concerned about the balance of our budget from here on out -- another one of those series-of-events tipping points occurred and things are going to be desperately rough for a while despite all the work we've done over the last year, which I'm just so over being the case, but that doesn't change the reality of it. So the guilt I have over even taking this trip is monumental even though it was all budgeted and paid for a while ago.)
So I have five days until I leave, in which I need to do all of my end-of-month work (because it always comes in at the end of the month), all the laundry, pack, and figure out how I'm going to not die of hypoglycemic shock once I get there, as well as figure out how Kyle and the kids will survive on the small amount of groceries we have until he gets paid on Friday.
Perhaps, like six months ago, I should have gone ahead and asked for sponsors, even though then I was sure I wouldn't need them and I was so proud that we'd figured out how to make this happen ourselves and we were doing so well, but lesson learned and hindsight and all that.
Ugh. If you need me, I'll be simultaneously strapped to my laptop working and running around the house like a chicken with their head cut off trying to desperately get everything in order to be able to leave with as little crippling guilt as possible.
Which is pretty much akin to the futility of driving an ice cream truck through hell and expecting to come out just fine on the other side.