where i am

i just want you to know, i hate going AWOL. i really, truly do. i love writing here more than almost anything, but sometimes i feel that i have no choice but to stop for a while. lately, i've felt that way.

the past 12 hours are basically a microcosm of my current life. so here's a glimpse:

last night, at 9 o'clock, i was watching "The Bachelor," which i don't think i've ever watched, not even in the early seasons, but my mom was talking about it so much a few weeks ago and there was one Monday night when i was home and nothing else was on so i watched it. and couldn't change the channel. i felt horrible about myself, believe me, but i still couldn't stop. and since there were only a few episodes left in the season, i decided to see it through.

so i was watching "The Bachelor" and cringing and rolling my eyes and eating brownies for dinner (i have been logging a lot of hours at the gym and eating a lot of sweets—right now that seems like a balanced diet to me). i was also thinking how stupid the whole thing is. they kept saying they fell in love in St. Lucia. well, duh. who wouldn't fall in love there? and ever since the proposal they've been living undercover, separate lives, unable to go out in public or live together. come on. real life will hit them like a Mack truck.

maybe i'm just sore.

anyway, i got into bed at 11 o'clock and read my book for a while—Catcher in the Rye, which i read early on in high school but was completely lost on me then; this time, i get it. finally turned off the lights around 11:30, but woke up two hours later to go to the bathroom. tossed and turned 'til 3 o'clock, when i turned the lights back on and finished the book. lights back off. fitful until 5 o'clock, when i start obsessing about my alarm clock, which was set for 6 o'clock because i wanted to go to the gym—i'd taken Sunday and Monday off due to exhaustion and was really hoping to make it this morning. fell asleep sometime before six, had a horrible dream in which i was essentially being held hostage by a really weird guy who wouldn't give me my phone back, and when my alarm did go off i reset it for 7:30.

finally dragged myself out of bed at eight, feeling almost numb in my limbs—sheer, utter tiredness. i got ready for work in thirty minutes and tried not to be sad about missing the gym. my eyes felt too tired for contacts, so i opted for my glasses instead. i love my glasses, but when i wear them i do feel a little like Clark Kent. you know, doofy and nerdy and bumbling, whereas when i have my contacts in i'm—well, not a super hero, but i do feel more together.

anyway, on my way to the subway, i bought a sugar-free Red Bull (just a pre-cursor to the large coffee i planned to purchase a block away from my office). the F train came fairly quickly for once, and i felt OK. had my Red Bull and a new book to read.

i stepped onto the train and grabbed an overhead bar and sipped my Red Bull. i reached into my bag to get my book at one point, and everything was going smoothly until the train lurched and a big splash of Red Bull landed on the guy sitting in front of/below me. it landed on his coat.

"ohmygod, i'm so sorry," i blathered, "i'm so, so sorry, i don't even have any napkins!"

he was youngish and laid back and told me not to worry about it, no big deal. so lucky—most people on the F train in the morning are major jerks. i was so grateful he wasn't one of them.

before i could get my act together again, i dropped my book and when i bent down to get it, yet another splatter of Red Bull left the can and landed on this poor guy's coat.

"jesus christ, i'm sorry," i said. "today is not my day."

at this point i turned away and held onto the center pole. i hoped it seemed like i was being considerate—removing any further chance of Red Bull showers. but really, i was humiliated and my eyes were stupidly filling with tears and i didn't want him to see me. i already felt like enough of a jackass.

i made it to the office without further incident and i have my big coffee and i'm sure i'll get through the day all right. it's just tonight i'm dreading. lately, no matter how tired i am, i sleep awfully. my brain won't stop worrying.

i'm not sure if it's already been coined or patented or trademarked, but i've come to think of this as secondhand depression.

Holden Caulfield would know exactly what i meant.

mbm