I was looking forward to this trip - meeting Marc, Kim, publicists I've enjoyed working with. I had breakfast with Skye McAlpine, the author of A Table in Venice, and was able to arrange a signing of her brilliant book at Kitchen Arts & Letters. I had the most amazing meal of my life with Marc and Jane at Estela in a quiet booth in a corner - but until we were in that booth - I was in a corner by the bar praying for death but loving talking with Marc and Jane. I'm broken.
I met Naomi Duguid who came up to me and asked who are you - and when I told her I loved her she said, "well, then let me embrace you". Another highlight was meeting Claudia Fleming, who my dear friends, John and Sandra, know well and who I adore, I was able to try her incredible desserts and hug her. I was in the same room with Melissa Clark, Padma Lakshmi, Samin Nosrat, Tamron Hall, Vivian Howard, Pati Jinich, Francis Lam, Andrew Zimmern, and other notables. I met the amazing Susie Chang and Hsiao-Ching Chou. I was able to hug Kat Kinsman and Nancie McDermott again. I'm spending the afternoon today with Rona and all day tomorrow with Christine at a writer's workshop and I adore them both. It's a dream weekend.
But I'm miserable. Several times yesterday at the reception, I felt like I was going to pass out. Being in the crowded room among all those people - I was suffocating. I just wanted to escape. It was too much - too much talking, laughing and noise. My head was swimming and I eventually drowned, I saw swirls of blackness and before I would allow myself to be consumed by the darkness - I would hobble over to a corner, a hallway and just try to remember how to breathe. I had to remind myself that I'm a fucking adult. I just wanted to cry and almost did break down a few times. It's been particularly hard the last month or two at home. I've had very dark thoughts about myself - I work to overcome them - I would never act on them, the disparity of my emotions is crippling. It takes an hour or twelve for that despair to dissipate.
Author meetings, publicists, friends - in a corner, I was totally fine. But after years of being alone in my world in NY and especially the last four years being alone in Colorado save my family, I have had little social interaction and have grown comfortable being alone. People tend to shy away from us. Due to all of this, I seem to not be able to handle social interaction - yeah I see the irony in this statement after getting up in front of 800 people and confessing my sins - total insanity. IACP was the nail, James Beard was the coffin in my hopes of being a normal person.
I understand Andrew so much better now. If that child feels one-eighth of what I was feeling, no wonder his anger is out of control. I tried to be strong - I tried not to spew venom, I tried to be as pleasant as I could be - but I just wanted out and almost snuck out several times to leave but as an adult I fought it hard. I couldn't pull names out of my head or speak coherently, I felt like I was drugged and I hadn't even had a sip of a drink. Andrew can't take off - well he has, but we go after him - so his anger comes out with physicality and vile remarks. Andrew can't write about it the following day to explain why he was a fucking lunatic.
Every time I come to a revelation, I vow to do better by him. When I go home I will appreciate being there for a few days, then I'll want to be anywhere but there. While I'm in NY, I want to be anywhere but here - except in my hotel room, alone in the quiet or on the street where I'm one of a million specks in an ocean.
Again, I vow to do better.
