Here's some stuff I "did" today.
I had today off and I didn't leave the apartment until 5 p.m. I had every intention of trekking into Manhattan to check out the library at Poets House, to savor the air of downtown, to ram unintentionally into tourists and see something gross on the subway. But it never happened. I spent the morning being my own assistant, planning my springtime tune ups with brand new doctors and a brand new insurance card. And by the time I finished the pathetic toss up of limbs I call exercise, it was already late afternoon and the day had flown away from me and took all my vim with it. Vimless, I experienced existence as something totally pointless so I did what I usually do when that thuggish part of my brain threatens a hijack: I went for a walk. After passing by hundreds of people either talking to someone else through their earbuds or talking to themselves through a diseased brain, I found myself in search of some retail therapy. And I ended up wandering into my favorite boutique store in Astoria, the one with the salesgirl who once told me I had curves meant for red dresses which was the best line I'd ever heard from someone trying to earn commission. I saw the one article of clothing I had tried on with optimism a few weeks ago that seemed to have a will of its own, a bratty obstinate will: it just wouldn't zip up, no matter how I pleaded. This time it was marked down and hung there on the sale rack, the last of its kind like some stylish, contrite, dodo bird. So I said, aloud, "fuck it" and tried it on (because I often don't know when to give up) and, in a rather surprising turn of events, it fit. I surmise that not drinking to excess for a few consecutive weeks in a row helped that along. So I bought it and was given a cookie by the salesgirl (who I might marry one day...she calls me pretty and gives me cookies, what more does a woman need?) and I came straight back here to sit in the quiet living room and stare off into space for a little while.
I felt happy-ish about my purchase but sad that I couldn't seem to make any eye contact with anyone on the sidewalk. I miss eye contact. It is damn near impossible to get even when you are on a subway facing each other. Everyone is so shifty. Or maybe it's me.
I've made progress in the book I'm reading about the death of American presidents. Seems appropriate reading since the current election feels like a death of sorts. I just read about William Howard Taft who is, sadly, known as the "fat" president. I mean, he was fat, there was no question. But he was also an accomplished guy. He was an emotional eater (I feel you, Tafty) and he had a sense of humor about his weight but it got to him. That story about the bathtub wasn't even true! No historian has been able to find evidence that he ever got stuck in a bathtub. Just one more stupid urban legend about a fat person and how people just can't believe that fat people aren't walking around all the time thinking about and doing fat things. He probably did some mad shady stuff during his presidency, like all of 'em but on the legacy of just being the fat guy, I feel bad for him.
I really can't believe it is almost 10 p.m. and tomorrow I'll wake up and have a million things to do and be pining for the day I just wasted in thoughts and purchases. I really should take up a hobby. Like mastering the art of blinking contests. With myself.