Dispatch From the Struggle To Remain Positive

Just in time for "Let Us Obliterate Our Central Nervous Systems and Terrify Our Pets in Celebration of Our Crumbling Republic" weekend. Don't despair, there will still be hot dogs!

No ketchup on those hot dogs, please. Chicago implores you to stay civilized, even in the face of unprecedented absurdity.

This Substack now has 99 subscribers. (please insert Jay Z problem/bitch joke here, I sadly can’t make it work) I’m humbled to see it teetering on triple digits. Of course, that makes me feel pressure to produce CONTENT, because that’s what’s up. It’s a space for words, words that have not come easily of late. I challenged myself to write a post today with no particular point in mind. I’m sorry and you’re welcome.

Recognizing that some people come to Substack to escape politics (#selfcare) and some people come here to process their outrage with like minded folks (#realitypurge), I’m simply starting with an acknowledgment that everything appears to be going off the muthafuckin rails on the daily and it’s hard to disassociate from all that enough to make discussing other topics seem normal. It’s enough to make you go Blue Jasmine, World’s Best Babysitter.

But for the sake of staying sane, let’s talk about something else for a few.

This summer has been the first in my Chicago residency that I have not been invigorated by the sun, emotionally enhanced by the longer days, boosted by the urban agenda, ie street fests, live music, outdoor drinking and dining, shenanigans, tomfoolery, horseplay, running with scissors. Last year at this time, I was fully engrossed in my annual “My self esteem is getting a bit out of control, I should probably let the world of dating apps club me in the kneecaps for a bit” period. Cut to me making out in our backyard with an older neurotic Jewish man with a rock and roll podcast who strung me along for a month or more. I’d mention he ruined My Morning Jacket for me, but in hindsight that hardly counts as a tangible loss.

I haven’t had the energy to engage in poor interpersonal decision making this summer, which I suppose has kept me out of trouble. I worked five days in May and most of them were immensely stressful. I opted to take all of June off to regroup and rehabilitate. Envisioning myself as fully new and improved after a full month of respite, I limped across the June finish line not much better than when I started. I have rested. I have streamed all the TV. I have had nothing but oodles of time to think about WHAT’S TRULY IMPORTANT.

Feeling like an endless bad news factory has quickly turned my social calendar to a barren wasteland of empty boxes. I had to forego my habit of buying tickets to events of interest in advance because I recognize that the person buying the ticket was filled with optimism but was inevitably unreliable to feel up to leaving the house on any given day for any number of reasons. I no showed on seeing Pete Holmes, Beth Snelling, and Khruanghbin last month, because I was either sick or exhausted or both. As someone who used to be judgy on people who “flaked”, I am now on Team I Get It, No Explanation Necessary. A card I play on the regular that is accepted by everyone in my ever shrinking circle of chosen family. Yesterday I packed and prepared for a work trip that with holiday pay was going to jumpstart my triumphant return to being a productive member of society once again. I ironed my uniform and purchased food and bought new shoes and gave myself twenty pep talks. I only had to work two hours to Oklahoma City, anyone could do it. Anyone but me, apparently, as I crumpled into a crying mess on our new outdoor patio furniture, my feet balled into useless fists.

I showed up at a neighborhood party recently that I assumed I would not attend due to epic fails at attempting work like yesterday’s scenario. Especially after lavishly announcing in this space that I WAS RETIRING next year, in a confident tone that now defies reason, I thought it would be too overwhelming to see tons of people from work and either have to put on a fake happy face or Eeyore the fuck out of everyone. I woke up feeling solid and despite it being in the high 90s with 10,000% humidity, I made the one minute walk to poke my head in.

Having a chronic illness does tend to cause people to greet you like you are a bomb on the verge of detonation; they say “I didn’t expect to see you here” and “How are you doing?” in a soft lilting tone of voice one would use to talk someone off a roof. The hostess, who is literally an Angel, told me I should never hesitate to call them for help, which she knew I would summarily reject as a possibility because, as she explained, “you’re you”.

There were all the Chicago summery things; Italian beef sandwiches and pasta salad in industrial sized pans, margaritas in cans in koozies, kids and dogs running in endless circles, occasionally zooming us with funny commentary despite the heatwave. I was neither forced to be fake happy or authentically miserable as I wasn’t either. It was a safe space to just be. I laughed at gripes about work and caught up on some gossip and collected some high quality hugs. One gal with an old school 70s bandana proclaimed it “Grey Gardens Summer!” after doing her best impression of Little Edie heralding the power of STAUNCH WOMEN.

When the sun went down and the little girls commandeered the karaoke machine to get their Taylor Swift on (adorable), I felt a familiar twitch in my foot that told me I should think about heading out. Knowing that if I said goodbye to everyone officially, I would end up hobbling the half a block home, I employed the Irish goodbye and dipped out. I thanked the hosts with a text and went to bed happy. It was lovely to be filled up with positive energy for a change. I will not give up on saying YES, even if 9 times out of 10, it’s a NO. And with the right people, it doesn’t matter if you can’t do it or you can only stay for a few minutes or you leave without saying goodbye. They accept that YOU are being YOU and that’s unconditionally welcomed.

Another quick introvert survival tip: if you’re held against your will in a boring one sided monologue, interject with an authoritative voice and say, “Excuse me, Professor, but I’ve decided to drop this class” and walk away. (I stole this from someone on Substack, I wish I remembered who so I could give them credit)

Much Chicago love to you, my little sport peppers. Smother yourself with brown mustard and relish and go to town this weekend.

@danielciallella81Will Ferrell Harry Caray Hot Dog #willferrell #saturdaynight #saturdaynightlive #harrycaray

Tiktok failed to load.

Enable 3rd party cookies or use another browser