I just wanna sit on my ass all day.
In Curaçao, I've decided. At a little oceanside resort near a fishing village. Read, nap, drink cocktails, sit in the sun. Snorkel. Ride a little scooter and a mountain bike around the island.
No work, no snow. No homeless and/or mentally ill guys who drip chocolate ice cream all over the carpet or whip out their dicks in the hallway while waiting to use the bookstore's bathroom. No deleting commas or Googling "subxiphoid" to check whether it's a real word. (It is.) No freezing my nips off if they're not covered with fleece or wool.
Mmmm, flip-flops. Mmmm, sun. Mmmm, ocean. Mmmm. Heaven.
I also want a puppy. But that's a dream for another day.
Holy bajingo, it's cold out. Time for hat hair, constantly fogged glasses and teary eyes, and my shapeless, knee-length coat.
Fuck you, winter.
(Or at least send a nice, big snow storm. I wanna go sledding.)
Today I have declared a moratorium on freelance work. Bookstore at 3, but no opening the laptop today. No fixing comma splices (though I use them with abandon, willful hypocrite), no writing semi-polite-yet-slyly-bitchy comments ("What, exactly, does this mean? Please clarify").
Instead, I am hiding from the cold rain and staying in my jammies until the last possible moment. Caffeinating myself into inwardly frenetic oblivion. I just denuded the dry, dry Christmas tree. Now pine needles poke out from my shirt like reptilian porcupine quills.
I feel grown-up and old today, even though my jammy pants have pink and purple polka dots on them. Alone with my small tragedies and sad anniversaries, and resigned to those parts of living life.
My hair has gotten super long, and I am tired of it, so it will go away today, chopchop!
I will miss my pigtails, but I won't miss the tangles or the great wads of wet hair I have to clear from the drain every day.
I'm working with the TV on in the background (I know, I know, I should turn it off), and the funniest ad just came on, for some new Clearblue Easy Digital Pregnancy Test.
"The most advanced technology...
YOU'LL EVER PEE ON."
Bwah!
I had a dream last night, which was mostly about bikes and naked hot-tubbing, and so which was mostly good, in which I was asked, "So, what were you dreaming about?" And it was so recursive and meta, me still being within my dream and being asked about my dream, it made me tongue-tied and also possibly ripped a small hole in the fabric of the universe.
Thirty minutes of walking/running, 10 minutes of rowing, and some crunching and lifting and stretching made me feel better this morning. Sauna time was also good. And then I went to Whole Foods and spent way too much money on delicious and mostly semi-healthy foods. Coffee is also making me feel better. And the weather is gorgeous, even though it is bizarre and somewhat alarming.
So, I managed to lift myself out of the mire a bit, without the help of any noble gases or bits of rubber.
I am missing Fun at a friend's house because I am old and tired. Instead, I am cooking some gyoza and drinking beer and reading the New Yorker, alone. However, I did answer friend's Star Trek questions correctly, without use of IMDB. I am Vindicated.
And old and tired. Pewp.
Everything is making me feel bad right now. And everyone, but don't worry; it's probably not your fault.
I just want to get in bed and pull the covers up to my eyes and watch some crappy TV until some shift in the universe makes things better. Instead, I have to go and sell books.
Things feel heavy. I feel heavy. Someone please tie helium balloons to me, great bunches of them, and lift me out of the mire.
Check out my friend Iscariot and a few others talking about their bike gang, SCUL. w00t!
I started watching What About Bob? last night with the cupcake, and the warning about not copying the DVD came onto the screen. I made a little moue of distaste at the clumsy sentence structure.
"Yuck. That sentence is all wrong."
The cupcake laughed at me. And then I laughed at me. And then I fell asleep 15 minutes into the movie.
