My manic depressive week.

I love roller coasters. I love being whipped back and forth, feeling like I might fall out, but knowing the likelihood of actually falling to my death from the tracks is something reassuringly close to zero. I love going upside down and feeling all the pressure of the world on my neck. And I absolutely love corkscrews. This is not a metaphor. I love riding roller coasters at amusement parks; I do not love (or even remotely like) riding roller coasters of emotion. This week has been a real roller coaster of emotion. The ups and downs have left me exhausted. I'm so tired I can barely relay it all to you. But I'll do my best.

So I flew home from Austin. I generally try not to check luggage when I fly. My trip home from Austin was no exception. Unfortunately, there was no room left in the overhead compartments when I boarded, so I had to gate check my bag. Hurrah! The perks of checking (not having to lift the bag up or get it down; not risking near misses as the bag falls from the overhead compartment onto an unsuspecting traveler) without the hassle of having to get to the airport an hour earlier and wait at baggage claim after a harrowing trip. We landed in the midst of a thunderstorm, and when I arrived at the gate, I was told that my bag could not be brought back up to the gate because of the lightning. I asked what that meant for my bag, and the man in the uniform responded with a shrug. I requested further clarification, and he said he thought it might end up at baggage claim. And I (completely reasonably) asked him where else it could possibly end up. And he said he wasn't sure, but it might be brought up to the gate once the lightning subsided. Completely fed up, I headed for baggage claim. I waited with the ordinary passengers who don't know the joy and ease of carrying on and waited for my luggage. As soon as I glimpsed it on the conveyor I ran over to collect it and proceeded to the taxi line. Did I mention it was raining? It was. The taxi line was the longest taxi line in the history of taxi lines. And it was raining. And the girl in front of me was smoking. Oy.

Anyone who has been in touch with me in the past month or so has come to know my (rational) apprehension about the epidemic that's sweeping the nation: bed bugs. I've looked at the photos online, and I've watched the number of retailers, movie theaters, and schools affected jump in number each day. I've refused to sit on the subway, I've showered every night when I come home from work, and I've checked my mattress once or twice a day. I was fairly confident I didn't have bed bugs. One night last week, I went to bed, turned off the light, and tried to fall asleep. Before I could do so, however, I found a bug in my bed. After gasping, jumping out of bed, and running to get a plastic bag to save the bug for later identification by a professional, I did the only reasonable thing I could think of doing at 1130pm on a weeknight in such a situation: I called my parents and started crying. I had done EVERYTHING I could to prevent this from happening. If I can't stop them, no one can! I'm going to have to burn down my apartment, break my lease, buy a new bed, throw out all my clothes.... Long story short, the exterminator came over, took one look at the bug, and told me it was a beetle, not a bed bug. How did a beetle get into my bed, I ask. The exterminator flipped over my bed and my couches and used a special light to check for signs of the real problematic critters - he didn't find any. Gosh, I have the best luck ever.

On Saturday, Brother and I set up shop at the bi-annual Crafts in Chelsea event and made a ton of new (facebook) friends. And blog followers. And newsletter readers. It was a serious good time. Our tent rocked (even though it took us about 2 hours to set it up), and our set up was super cool. We now have over 150 unique designs (check them out at www.seniorits.net), and life is pretty great. If you're really my friend, you'll buy something. (And if you're not really my friend, but you want to become my friend, that's a great way to make it happen.) What a high.

And then there's the classic manic depressive place in everyone's life: work. The billable year ends for us on October 31. That's a little over a week from now. Every day for the past month, I have calculated the number of hours I still need. I have gone from "Yes, I'm going to make my hours, make my bonus, keep my job, and save the world!" to "Yeah, I'm not going to make my hours, but it's a ridiculous measure of worth, anyway, and I never expected to make them, and I'm not going to buy into that big firm b.s. and cater to their money hungry ideals by meeting my hours," to "I'm not going to make my hours. They're going to fire me. I'm going to have to break my lease, and I'll have to live in a 1-bedroom apartment in Astoria with 3 other roommates." Talk about ups and downs. With 10 days to go, I need 11 hours. I think it'll happen. But I refuse to become emotionally invested. It's just too tiring. But I better make those hours.

Austin rocks.

October has been quite an eventful month. Any month that's kicked off with a three-day music festival is a month for me. I jetted down to Austin the first Thursday of October, donning a fedora, mini cowboy boots, and the biggest smile ever. (I was obviously ready for a good time.) Co-Worker A picked me up from the airport (I think this was the first time anyone has ever met me at arrivals, and it was totally magical. Thanks, Co-Worker A, for making me feel as special as the entire cast of Love Actually characters), and we headed into the city to explore and hydrate. After visiting the Texas Capitol Building (and violating the "no drinks in the Senate Chamber" rule - oops), we ended up at a biker bar (at least that's what my Austin Friend and the Harleys parked out front told me), which was totally fine because it had more varieties of cider than any Irish pub I've encountered in NYC.

Later that night Small Asian Friend ("SAF") and her Boston Bud arrived, and we prepared for our long weekend of ACL amazingness. One of the best things about ACL is learning about bands I've never heard before. SAF and I discovered a total gem as we camped out at one of the stages two and a half hours before my most eagerly anticipated act, Norah Jones, was scheduled to go on. If you haven't heard Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros, I highly recommend it. The entire clan of Zeros looks like they stepped into a time machine at Woodstock (the original Woodstock), and walked out 40 years later. The front man has bigger hair and a better beard than Brother ever will, no matter how much Brother looks like Wolverine when he stops cutting his hair (sorry to burst the bubble, Brother), and the harmonizing vocalist Jade Castrinos (whom I read somewhere is leading man Alex Ebert's girlfriend, but I can't verify that) sounds like every successful 60's-70's female vocalist combined. They rocked. Really rocked.

You know who else rocked? Norah Jones. She was fabulous. And she's styling a new short haircut with bangs. And she did a Johnny Cash cover. And SAF and I were in the very front. Ah, so wonderful. Other highlight shows include Amos Lee, Donovan Frankenreiter, and Matt & Kim. And the award for biggest disappointment goes to M.I.A. I wasn't a huge fan by any means to begin with, but she could have been one of the worst acts I've ever seen live. The stages have these giant screens next to them, so those who can't see the stage itself can still feel like they're right up front, watching the performer's every move. M.I.A. apparently didn't want anyone to see her (I'm skeptical she was even there) because she brought along a totally random video of people jumping rope and other things that made SAF and I feel like we were on acid. (Not that we know what it's like to be on acid. Or anything, really. We are law-abiding citizens, after all.) She was just terrible. I'm going to get on my soapbox here for a minute and say that artists who are not good live should not perform live. They should stick to recording music and selling albums. Ok, that's all I'll say about that.

Anyway, the rest of the weekend was just fantastic, and I discovered that Austin's airport has the best (read: fastest) airport security in the world. I got to the airport an hour and 15 minutes before my flight was scheduled for take-off. I arrived at the gate an hour and 7 minutes before my flight was scheduled for take-off. Glorious. Sadly, I had to go back to work when I returned to New York. But I guess work is what pays the bills and makes jetting down to Austin possible. Blah blah blah. Can't wait until next year!