When I woke up from my nose surgery, I thought I had been buried alive. My eyes were covered, my nostrils were packed, and they had wrapped me in so many blankets that my mouth was blocked and I was swaddled like a newborn infant. Realizing I was trapped, I let out a bloodcurdling scream that sounded more like a small animal drowning. The subsequent panic attack resulted in a barely tolerable nurse loading up my IV with Xanax over the next four hours because I was apparently upsetting her and other patients. If I hadn't wanted to get out of there so badly, I would have shown her what it really looks like to upset other patients. I once watched my grandmother remove her own IV and beat a nurse with it. It was one of the most entertaining things I have ever seen and I seriously considered paying homage to the small yet vicious woman, may she rest in peace.
I don't do well with being trapped, figuratively or literally. I don't like small spaces, glass enclosures, revolving doors, or particularly long tunnels. I like to know how I am getting out of things. Maybe this is caused by my being trapped in revolving doors twice. Maybe knowing that everything would end on a neat timeline - high school, college, my corps commitment, school years, summer jobs - has made me crave a definitive end to everything. All I know is that I feel trapped and I have felt trapped in New York for too long. I can't wait to say goodbye to studio apartments, the subway, and crowded sidewalks. I am really looking forward to moving to Atlanta. I don't think that I am running away but I certainly see this as my escape. Get out, get moving, don't look back.
To escape my parents' cleaning people, I went for a midday track workout. I warmed up with an 800 m jog and then completed HQ's WOD: 100 m walking lunge, 800 m run, 100 squats for time. Including the time it took me to unlock my phone with sweaty fingers - 11:17.47.