Hadas GOES to Chicago

This is the face of depression:

IMG_1953You may think the smile belies the statement, but it doesn’t. I have depression. Usually it hits pretty severely in August but this year I was too busy for it – it takes a lot of time and energy to hate one’s job.

Well, once my body sensed some spare time, depression found me – and hit me hard. For the past week it has been really hard to motivate myself out of bed. I have been forcing myself to brush my teeth. Getting out of the house is a constant negotiation. But I want to be clear, I am not sad. I am just utterly demotivated to participate in my life. It’s like a heavy weight is depressing me (hence the term “depression”). I have upped my dosage (and consistency) of vitamin D and have allowed myself forgiveness for canceling out on plans with people.

Tuesday felt a bit better – spending some time with friends helped. Wednesday even better – partly that is due to adventure.

I arrived at the airport at 7:40AM for my GOES interview. The interviewer arrived at his office about 10 minutes after I did. Obviously I was the first one scheduled. I dropped my luggage in the waiting area and sat across from him. He had floppy hair that I would have guessed to be a toupee had it been more well groomed, and was wearing a police-ish uniform that shouldn’t come in that size. I was apparently the first adult female he’d ever spoken to as he immediately started sing-song talking to me like I was four and dressed in my favorite princess outfit. “Do you understand what having global entry means?” I batted my eyelashes and in a warbly soprano, surrounded by woodland creatures, “Oh heavens, no. Do tell!”

For fifteen minutes he spoke down to me of all the fancy benefits and took my fingerprints. Finally he set me free and offered his hand to shake. The douche-chills ran down my spine but were slightly calmed by the sound of the next person to be interviewed shuffling around behind me. I mentally took a Silkwood shower and wandered over to the Alaskan Airlines counter to get my boarding pass and cajole them into adding my newly minted pre-check status.

Unfortunately, it takes about 24 hours for “the system” to process global entry so I had to line up with the proletariat, take off my boots and remove my laptop – like an animal.

I got to my gate with about 2 hours to spare. Chris Hardwick and I snuggled up and napped lightly. On the plane I pulled out my knitting and was extremely grateful for my noise canceling headphones as the man next to me was obviously trying to chat me up. I looked over to the man in the aisle across from me. He took an amazing amount of time to get settled and finally did with some sort of blanket shawl/scarf thing. He took two throat hits of Cēpacol, sneezed twice into the crook of his arm and fell right to sleep. I am pretty sure I now have Ebola (is it just me or is everyone using this :& as the Ebola emoticon?).

Several inches of knitting, a snack of salami and two Nerdists later we landed in O’Hare. I am in Chicago to visit my friend, who offered for me to come visit when she found out I was unemployed, and to participate in ComedySportz Midwest Invitational Tournament (Portland plays tonight!). My friend lives in Printers Row and told me to get on the Blue Line and off at LaSalle which is two blocks from her apartment. I went into the tunnels under O’Hare to find the El. I am not certain how far down those tunnels are – I was still getting cell reception – but by the temperature, I would guess we were only about fifty miles from hell – it was either sweltering or my :& fever had sunk in already.

I found the ticketing machine and took almost ten minutes and two failed attempts before I finally got my week long El and bus Ventra pass. I blame the :&, it’s melting my brain (also, now when I say Ebola in my head it sounds like the guy in the Ricola commercial). I then continued on the people movers to follow the blue signs to Terminal 1. It wasn’t until I actually got to Terminal 1 before I realized I was not heading to the Blue Line of the El but to a terminal in the airport. At some point I am going to have to stop blaming :& but I believe that point is in 21 days. I u-turned back to the ticket machine and found the actual Blue Line.

One stop in a man got up from his seat and offered it to me. “No thanks, I have been sitting all day.” Which started us into a lovely conversation. Shelly is an auditor for a marketing something or other. We talked projects, start-ups, Chicago, travel. He offered me his contact information, and told me I have another friend in Chicago. I took it (because, networking) and gave him my relationship status information. He took it well and mentioned something about us just being strangers on a train (I hope I don’t have to kill someone for him now). It was all very pleasant, even with my douche-meter needing recalibration from having been set off that morning, and the time zone change.

I found my way to my friend’s apartment with only going in the wrong direction once. I am now snuggled with a dog named Miley. Like the original she has short hair, drools all over the place and can’t really twerk despite all the tail wagging.

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