Right, so that was fun.
Yesterday we rented a car in Bath in order to drive around to various more remote locations: Stonehenge, Avebury, etc., ending in Salisbury, where we planned to drop off the car and then take a train back to London.
We successfully (more or less) navigated insanely narrow country village streets and an unholy number of roundabouts in this Nissan SUV which we were surprised to get considering I thought we were getting a compact car. We didn't get lost, thanks to Google Maps. We managed to visit most of the sites we wanted to see (with a few exceptions due to time constraints) and congratulated ourselves on getting to the car rental office in Salisbury 15 minutes before our scheduled dropoff time.
Of all the various things that could go awry with this plan, we never guessed it would be the part where we DROP OFF THE CAR.
But then, it all started just a little off. The night before picking up the car, we noticed that the reservation paperwork we'd printed said that we were picking it up at 5 pm in Bath and dropping it off at 6 pm in Salisbury. (It's entirely due to their crap website which likes to reset the time of your reservation any time you make any minor change while trying to set it up.) This was NOT what we had intended for our all-day trip, but I managed to change it online to an 8:30 am pickup. Okay. Not too bad. They had a car for us when we showed up the next morning, though it wasn't the one we expected. Fine.
BUT THEN!!! Upon arriving at the Salisbury rental office at 5:45, we found the facility gates locked with a giant padlock, the whole place apparently shut (despite their posted closing time of 6:00), and no key dropbox anywhere. We searched in vain for a way in, to no avail. We spent about 10 minutes wandering around in utter confusion, going WHAT IS HAPPENING THIS IS CRAZY AARRGGGHHH.
Then came the phone calls. I called their office number and nobody answered. I called the office where we rented the car in Bath and nobody answered. I called the Customer Service main number and got a recording that said their customer service line closed at 5:30.
We all know how much I love making phone calls, so of course I made yet another call in a last-ditch attempt to speak to a human, and called the next closest car rental office, 20 miles away at the Southampton airport. The very nice lovely woman I spoke to was calm with my flustered self, waited on the phone while we searched one more time for a dropbox or a way in, and finally suggested that we leave the car parked in front and HIDE THE KEYS SOMEWHERE. Oh god. There seemed to be nowhere good to hide the keys that we could actually reach from OUTSIDE.
Here's the really fun part: Rob finally decided to jump the fence. There was a high iron fence all the way around the place except on one short side where the car rental facility abutted the neighboring auto shop business. (BTW we did ask them what the heck was up with the Hertz people and they were like, uh, we don't know them.) On that side was a rickety wooden fence about 6 feet high. Braving CCTV cameras and who knew what other possible alarms and things, Rob climbed over, hid the keys underneath their rental office portable structure, and climbed back to our side. The kind Southampton office lady agreed to send them an email on our behalf so there was external evidence we attempted to make the dropoff. Rob took pictures to document where we left the car and keys, and later on, when we'd actually made it back to our lodgings in London at around 10:30 pm, I followed up by filling in the web contact form (since Hertz apparently doesn't have a direct way to email anyone), explaining what happened, and sending them a picture showing where we left the keys.
As positive as our experiences with Hertz have been the last few times we used them, including in Australia, this time was TOTALLY INSANE.
GOLD MEMBERSHIP MY ASS.
Showing posts with label angst. Show all posts
Showing posts with label angst. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 16, 2017
Sunday, October 11, 2015
The Heartbreak of...Chronic Hives
I just have to vent about this. You can read it, or not.
I always wondered what the heck people meant when they referred to "the heartbreak of psoriasis." Now that I know what it's like to have a mysteriously recurring autoimmune skin condition that is essentially an enigma to modern medicine, and apparently continues to be so in the 13 years I've had to live with it off and on, it IS a little heartbreaking.
Okay, I'll correct myself: there have been two new things since the last time I obsessively researched this online (during my last bout, maybe three years ago). Firstly, some people respond to the asthma medication Xolair, although so far in the small number of studies conducted, the hives slowly return after medication is stopped, so...yeah. Secondly, there's been a name change! Oh, yay. Now "chronic idiopathic urticaria" is "chronic spontaneous urticaria."
It still means the same thing, though: recurring mystery hives, cause unknown.
And it's more than just hives, at least in my experience. The hives might itch furiously, or a little, or not at all. They might go away throughout the day. Or not. Antihistamines might help, or not. A course of steroids usually ultimately kicks it in the butt, except when it doesn't, like this time. (A new and unwelcome development.) My personal least favorite is getting a hive on my lip or eyelid so it looks like I got smacked in a barfight, although having welts up and down my legs is no picnic either.
And then there are the vague non-hive symptoms. Feeling like I've swallowed air and it's causing pressure in my chest, like heartburn or gas pain, moving around in there for hours, sometimes during the night so it's hard to sleep deeply for long periods of time. Zantac: it might help, or it might not. (Bet you didn't know it was a histamine blocker. The things you find out when you have hives.) The fatigue and general malaise that make me feel just kind of tired and yucky. The anxiety that some unlucky day I might get swelling in my tongue or throat and have to get rushed to the hospital, though that hasn't happened yet, knock on wood.
Exercise is always supposed to be a cure-all. Exercise helps reduce the stress hormone cortisol, etc. etc. If I'm feeling okay enough to exercise, it might help--sometimes it seems to help me metabolize whatever medication I've taken, and the hives will start to go down. Sometimes my own sweat seems to irritate my skin and bring out new hives. Sometimes I just don't feel well enough to exercise, or I have hives on my feet that make it really uncomfortable to wear running shoes. Or run.
This might be the worst, though: knowing that stress and anxiety is a major component, perhaps even the long-term ultimate cause--and still being unable to control the fact that the condition itself causes me additional stress.
Like anxiety and depression, issues I'm also far too familiar with, it isn't something that will "just go away." Seems like there's about a five-month minimum, in fact. So...it's been almost a month now. Four more to go? We'll see.
I always wondered what the heck people meant when they referred to "the heartbreak of psoriasis." Now that I know what it's like to have a mysteriously recurring autoimmune skin condition that is essentially an enigma to modern medicine, and apparently continues to be so in the 13 years I've had to live with it off and on, it IS a little heartbreaking.
Okay, I'll correct myself: there have been two new things since the last time I obsessively researched this online (during my last bout, maybe three years ago). Firstly, some people respond to the asthma medication Xolair, although so far in the small number of studies conducted, the hives slowly return after medication is stopped, so...yeah. Secondly, there's been a name change! Oh, yay. Now "chronic idiopathic urticaria" is "chronic spontaneous urticaria."
It still means the same thing, though: recurring mystery hives, cause unknown.
And it's more than just hives, at least in my experience. The hives might itch furiously, or a little, or not at all. They might go away throughout the day. Or not. Antihistamines might help, or not. A course of steroids usually ultimately kicks it in the butt, except when it doesn't, like this time. (A new and unwelcome development.) My personal least favorite is getting a hive on my lip or eyelid so it looks like I got smacked in a barfight, although having welts up and down my legs is no picnic either.
And then there are the vague non-hive symptoms. Feeling like I've swallowed air and it's causing pressure in my chest, like heartburn or gas pain, moving around in there for hours, sometimes during the night so it's hard to sleep deeply for long periods of time. Zantac: it might help, or it might not. (Bet you didn't know it was a histamine blocker. The things you find out when you have hives.) The fatigue and general malaise that make me feel just kind of tired and yucky. The anxiety that some unlucky day I might get swelling in my tongue or throat and have to get rushed to the hospital, though that hasn't happened yet, knock on wood.
Exercise is always supposed to be a cure-all. Exercise helps reduce the stress hormone cortisol, etc. etc. If I'm feeling okay enough to exercise, it might help--sometimes it seems to help me metabolize whatever medication I've taken, and the hives will start to go down. Sometimes my own sweat seems to irritate my skin and bring out new hives. Sometimes I just don't feel well enough to exercise, or I have hives on my feet that make it really uncomfortable to wear running shoes. Or run.
This might be the worst, though: knowing that stress and anxiety is a major component, perhaps even the long-term ultimate cause--and still being unable to control the fact that the condition itself causes me additional stress.
Like anxiety and depression, issues I'm also far too familiar with, it isn't something that will "just go away." Seems like there's about a five-month minimum, in fact. So...it's been almost a month now. Four more to go? We'll see.
Sunday, April 26, 2015
Three Breaths
I've spent more time than I care to admit reading inspirational articles on sites like Zen Habits and Tiny Buddha; neurotically perusing stress reduction techniques and "how to know if you're burned out" checklists on WebMD and HelpGuide and Psychology Today. I've read books on mindfulness and wistfully wished I could go to UMass for the mindfulness-based stress reduction program. I've read and re-read books by Jon Kabat-Zinn.
I haven't always been great at implementing the techniques in any sort of regular fashion, though I know I would be healthier if I did. The excuses are increasingly ridiculous: "Who has time to lie down for a 30-minute body scan?" turns into the ludicrous "Who's got time for the Three-Minute Breathing Space?"
Evidently there is a very persuasive part of me that thinks I can't simply sit there for three minutes, never mind the fact that I may spend thirty or forty minutes reading internet articles about sitting meditation or stress or whatever. This makes no sense.
BUT. I came up with a nearly foolproof (the fool being me) method of centering myself and slowing myself down, of stopping the mean mental voice that likes to castigate me for every little thing. I can't really take credit for this, since it's basically distilled from all that reading I just talked about. But here it is.
Three breaths.
You really can't rationalize away the time it takes to breathe in, breathe out; breathe in, breathe out; breathe in, breathe out. Because look! It's already done. Sometimes it actually IS challenging to sit in mindfulness and serenity for three minutes. Or there's some external situational reason that makes it difficult to do. But surely I can do it for three breaths. Surely I can stop that inner mean voice for the space of three breaths. Surely I can follow my breath in and out, slowly, without criticism, three measly times.
Sometimes that's enough.
I haven't always been great at implementing the techniques in any sort of regular fashion, though I know I would be healthier if I did. The excuses are increasingly ridiculous: "Who has time to lie down for a 30-minute body scan?" turns into the ludicrous "Who's got time for the Three-Minute Breathing Space?"
Evidently there is a very persuasive part of me that thinks I can't simply sit there for three minutes, never mind the fact that I may spend thirty or forty minutes reading internet articles about sitting meditation or stress or whatever. This makes no sense.
BUT. I came up with a nearly foolproof (the fool being me) method of centering myself and slowing myself down, of stopping the mean mental voice that likes to castigate me for every little thing. I can't really take credit for this, since it's basically distilled from all that reading I just talked about. But here it is.
Three breaths.
You really can't rationalize away the time it takes to breathe in, breathe out; breathe in, breathe out; breathe in, breathe out. Because look! It's already done. Sometimes it actually IS challenging to sit in mindfulness and serenity for three minutes. Or there's some external situational reason that makes it difficult to do. But surely I can do it for three breaths. Surely I can stop that inner mean voice for the space of three breaths. Surely I can follow my breath in and out, slowly, without criticism, three measly times.
Sometimes that's enough.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
On Meaning and Goals
As I mentioned in my latest post on Finding Wonderland, I'm reading The Van Gogh Blues by Eric Maisel. One of the things the book encourages the reader to do is think about what creates meaning in one's life, and so I tried to be game and did a bit of writing/thinking about it. I discovered that I make some interesting assumptions about meaning that I don't always examine closely enough:
I zeroed in on a few ideas that I feel are important to me: Learning. Process. Progress. And I started to think about how being goal-oriented is sometimes an obstacle to appreciating process.
I seem to associate meaning with things happening outside of myself. If that were true, I'd have no control over making anything meaningful. And maybe that is my big fear, the fear that making meaning is not under my control. Or maybe I'm afraid that if I acknowledge making meaning IS under my control, I will have to admit that I'm bad at it. That I've been doing a poor job.
I'm getting hung up again on the idea that others are the arbiters of what is ultimately meaningful, whether my accomplishments are meaningful. Deconstructing that, I notice there's an implicit assumption that I need to have accomplished things in order for meaning to be a consideration.
If there's anything I should have learned from being in the arts, it's the importance of process, just as much as product. Perhaps in some cases more so than product, because we learn from process.
I zeroed in on a few ideas that I feel are important to me: Learning. Process. Progress. And I started to think about how being goal-oriented is sometimes an obstacle to appreciating process.
A goal, an end result, should be an image that inspires, encourages, invigorates. It should spur more joy in the process and the act. It should not discourage, dishearten, inspire fear or anxiety, cause despair. I constantly confuse goals with chores.I'm starting to think the mistake is in thinking of "goal" and "process" as two separate, separable things. Anyway, some Points to Ponder.
If a goal does that, then perhaps it is not a goal as I want to define it. What is it, then? And how can I reformulate it so it's the "right" kind of goal?
I have too many chores and not enough goals.
Maybe goal is the wrong word. Dream. Objective. Aim. Wish. Inspiration. Goal is too simple. It is a source as well as a goal, a beginning and an end point. It's the motivational starting point as well as the dream at the end. It gives meaning to the process.
Wednesday, December 04, 2013
About Online Personas: Do I Have One? Do I Need One? Does Anyone Care?
You'd think, for an introvert like myself, interacting online and blogging and whatnot would be easy, seeing as I can do such things from the comfort of my non-people-filled home.
But no. And here's why.
1. It turns out, for me, interacting is interacting, at some level. Yes, in-person interaction is much more exhausting and often high-stress and occasionally bitterly disappointing (that's where my introversion starts to veer into misogynistic, self-critical melancholy). But online interaction takes a certain amount of energy, too. So I'll kind of disappear for days at a time, just as—if you know me IRL—I sort of do in actuality. I need periods of hermitude so I can be a fun-filled bundle of nonstop cheer when you do see me. Or, at least, so I can recharge my energy reserves and be ready to act like a normal person when I see you. And online, I seem to also function in bursts, and then need downtime in between. The two types of interaction also synergize, in the sense that if I'm feeling overwhelmed by real-life stuff, I also tend to be too exhausted to be present online, either.
2. I don't know how much of my actual self I want to put out there. Again, as an introvert, I'm used to sharing only certain things with certain people. So I often get paralyzed into doing nothing when I start thinking about posting X or Y to Facebook or this blog. It's not that I'm secretive. I am sort of private, I guess. But mostly, I wonder things like: Who actually cares if I post this? What if I post something that makes someone weirdly confrontational? What if I post about myself and then regret it and feel stupid about it later? What if my blog post doesn't pass some imaginary "coolness test" that I've totally built up in my mind? And so on.
3. Persona management is something that concerns me now that I have actual published books and articles and stuff out there. And frankly, it feels like an overwhelming Sisyphean task. Should I be doing certain types of posts now that I'm "an author"? Is it bad if I don't do what author X or author Y are doing? (Obviously the answer is no, but the question still bothers me.) What if by doing X or Y I totally screw it up? What if by doing NOTHING I screw it up? And then there's the feeling that whatever bits and pieces of myself are already floating around out there have a life of their own already—a thought that makes me feel incrementally better simply because it's out of my hands.
Ultimately, though, I guess I do at some level crave interaction, or I wouldn't be writing things and posting things in the first place. But just as I feel a bit out of sync with the way "most normal people" (who are these people??) in the world function socially, I also feel a bit out of sync with how I'm supposed to be or expected to behave online. I guess that's because now there IS such a thing as "normal" behavior online, now that most* people are online and doing things. So the normative mores for online behavior now follow what those "normal people" do, and we're back to fundamentally the same situation in the online world as the physical one.
Of course, that is a vast generalization. And I want to live in a world—real or online—where there is room for variety in the socialization spectrum. It's not actually something we're taught very well (or at all), in our society: to tolerate different types of social behavior and patterns of interaction. I make a conscious, conscientious effort to respect the needs of the people in my life when it comes to them needing more or less interaction. But I need to respect my own needs, too. And I guess, right now, I'm not sure what my needs actually are as far as my online presence is concerned.
But no. And here's why.
1. It turns out, for me, interacting is interacting, at some level. Yes, in-person interaction is much more exhausting and often high-stress and occasionally bitterly disappointing (that's where my introversion starts to veer into misogynistic, self-critical melancholy). But online interaction takes a certain amount of energy, too. So I'll kind of disappear for days at a time, just as—if you know me IRL—I sort of do in actuality. I need periods of hermitude so I can be a fun-filled bundle of nonstop cheer when you do see me. Or, at least, so I can recharge my energy reserves and be ready to act like a normal person when I see you. And online, I seem to also function in bursts, and then need downtime in between. The two types of interaction also synergize, in the sense that if I'm feeling overwhelmed by real-life stuff, I also tend to be too exhausted to be present online, either.
2. I don't know how much of my actual self I want to put out there. Again, as an introvert, I'm used to sharing only certain things with certain people. So I often get paralyzed into doing nothing when I start thinking about posting X or Y to Facebook or this blog. It's not that I'm secretive. I am sort of private, I guess. But mostly, I wonder things like: Who actually cares if I post this? What if I post something that makes someone weirdly confrontational? What if I post about myself and then regret it and feel stupid about it later? What if my blog post doesn't pass some imaginary "coolness test" that I've totally built up in my mind? And so on.
3. Persona management is something that concerns me now that I have actual published books and articles and stuff out there. And frankly, it feels like an overwhelming Sisyphean task. Should I be doing certain types of posts now that I'm "an author"? Is it bad if I don't do what author X or author Y are doing? (Obviously the answer is no, but the question still bothers me.) What if by doing X or Y I totally screw it up? What if by doing NOTHING I screw it up? And then there's the feeling that whatever bits and pieces of myself are already floating around out there have a life of their own already—a thought that makes me feel incrementally better simply because it's out of my hands.
Ultimately, though, I guess I do at some level crave interaction, or I wouldn't be writing things and posting things in the first place. But just as I feel a bit out of sync with the way "most normal people" (who are these people??) in the world function socially, I also feel a bit out of sync with how I'm supposed to be or expected to behave online. I guess that's because now there IS such a thing as "normal" behavior online, now that most* people are online and doing things. So the normative mores for online behavior now follow what those "normal people" do, and we're back to fundamentally the same situation in the online world as the physical one.
Of course, that is a vast generalization. And I want to live in a world—real or online—where there is room for variety in the socialization spectrum. It's not actually something we're taught very well (or at all), in our society: to tolerate different types of social behavior and patterns of interaction. I make a conscious, conscientious effort to respect the needs of the people in my life when it comes to them needing more or less interaction. But I need to respect my own needs, too. And I guess, right now, I'm not sure what my needs actually are as far as my online presence is concerned.
