Vanity Fairest

There are people in my life who believe that I think I’m perfect. And there are people in my life who know me better, and know that, on the contrary, I’m actually quite insecure. And kind of a mess.

I have always worn my heart on my sleeve, and I have never been shy about speaking up about my feelings. Which is why I thought nothing of posting my not-so-happy feelings about Nashville last week.

Apparently, y’all enjoyed my little pity party, because I had nearly twice as many hits that day than usual. But Rob was none too happy, and so, after a wee bit of an argument, I deleted it. With a dramatic flourish, of course.

Since then, many of you have expressed your concern, fearing I had finally truly lost my shit. Some of you even complained, because you liked some of the things I had to say. Even Rob came around, and, by virtue of his bizarre prowess of all things electronic, he managed to recover my deleted post.

So, without further ado, by popular demand, lest anyone should think I’m trying to maintain some guise of perfection, in all its messy melodramatic glory, here is my mental breakdown of last Tuesday, for your reading pleasure:

I am really trying to be OK here.

The weather is nice, which is great for my mood. It’s hard to be in a bad mood when the sky is blue and the sun is shining at least five days a week.

But a person’s sanity becomes questionable when she spends so much time alone, working from home with idiotic college divas whose large egos have obstructed their ability to reason and talking to her dog as if she were a human child. It was ever this way in Chicago, but at least I had friends as a form of human companionship when my dear husband-to-be was yet again slaving away at the office until 10 pm.

I have tried to make friends here. I have. But the people who go to my yoga studio are all 50-something Southern socialites, and I can’t bring myself to join the YMCA, where I suspect all the young people go, because they’re just too … friendly. On the tour alone, I was invited to accept Jesus Christ as my personal savior. Twice. They have three chapels. And the Gospel is painted on the wall.

I’ve been in obedience classes with Molly, but we haven’t gotten so much as a doggie play-date out of it.

I’m trying to take tennis lessons, but it seems that no one in the entire state of Tennessee offers group tennis lessons. No one but the YMCA.

Rob’s work friends are nice, but they work the same ridiculous hours as he does, and I just haven’t connected with their wives.

I even joined a temple, on Rob’s dad’s recommendation, and while they’ve been very welcoming, I’m not sure how they’ll feel about me coming to their social events and service projects but skipping the religious services. And, oh yeah, not actually being Jewish.

Today, one of my yoga pals (whose husband used to work at Rob’s firm, and who is good family friends with the name partners of this firm) put her daughter up to calling me to offer us free tickets to a private Faith Hill and Tim McGraw concert. It’s part of some fundraiser they helped coordinate. Its a black-tie, intimate venue, $1,000 a ticket kind of thing. They didn’t sell all the tickets, so she’s giving them away to friends just so the seats will be filled.

It’s by far the most exciting thing that has happened since we moved to Nashville. I was practically giddy when I called Rob to tell him.

And we can’t go.

Rob has to work.

I don’t know why, but I’m more upset than I guess I should be. I don’t even like country music.

Rob has since decided that he can spare the time and that it would be a good idea for us to go, but I’m just over it now. I’ve had my breakdown, and I’ve dried my tears, and now I’m just over it. I’m past the point of wanting to try to make this work. I’m tired of trying to be happy here.

I just want to go home.

I’m not looking for hugs or sympathy. I just needed to get this out – to make it public knowledge. Maybe if I denounce all hope for my life here, maybe if I stop trying so hard, things will shape up and will get better.

I know that makes me the opposite of optimistic, but its who I am.