Monday, April 8, 2013

A Rabid Monkey From Space

I began this Monday with a leaden head. I blame the one Sidecar and the one glass of red/white blended wine I had as a chaser at around 9pm last night. Incidentally, I blame those exact two things for my never ending posting on Mad Men's Facebook page until midnight last night as I lie in bed, my cats the sentinels (albeit asleep) on either side of me, the only light in the room, the flickering glow of my old laptop. It strikes me at this moment that the observation was made to me a few weeks ago that I should perhaps "get a more eventful life" vis a vis a relationship with another person and that when I reflect on what I did on an average Sunday night, if Facebook is any indication of real life (that's a whole 'nother post) all of the people currently in marriages or relationships did the exact same thing, making that suggestion a little stoopid. Pardon my French.
Anyway, when I opened my eyes I realized that I was in a mood and when in a mood, I try to stretch out time to do my bidding. I try by sheer force of will to give myself one more hour to languish in the land of half asleep. Never you mind that doing this is an exercise in more mood making.

Ever perform your daily morning routine in the stalwart determination to perceive that everything that happens, however small or mild an inconvenience as incontestable proof that the universe hates you and that life is rabid monkey? From space? With sharp claws and teeth? No? I guess it is just me then after all.

And sometimes, your day is exactly what you think it will be. You trip on your way out your front door. You forget your coffee in a travel mug on your kitchen counter. You notice the crack at the base of your windshield and right next to it, the nearly expired inspection sticker. Someone in a van cuts you off then flips you off in his rearview mirror. Someone remarks how tired you look. And all you really need to do is go somewhere big and open and empty and scream. Just one big long extended scream or, if it tickles your fancy a series of long barbaric yawps as it were. And that's where I was at about 11am this morning in my windowless office, on my sixth consecutive working day. Then I went outside for my lunch hour and it was the most beautiful day it has been since the last time it was beautiful which was probably in 2012, the year of the Mayan apocalypse. The wind started swirling in my ears and I heard birds and people laughing. Then, when my mood shifted from "anvil" to "baby anvil", I did what I always do; I fell into unpleasant rumination.

It wasn't entirely unbidden. I recently was asked to text someone of the male persuasion. I texted. I received nothing in return. When I text someone and am met with silence, I imagine that I am screaming into the mouth of a bottomless cavern, waiting around to hear even the faint sound of my own voice echoing back. Except I haven't said anything to begin with. I've used my thumbs to communicate that "I am here. I am available. I want this to lead somewhere. I want to know you." That's the thing about emailing and texting: it doesn't matter how long you work on what you want to say or what you mean or what mood you are in when you send the message: it can be ignored.

After work, I had about two hours to kill before my second job. (I am unaccustomed to such langour) And, seeing as the universe had so hated me this morning and so liked me this afternoon, I wanted to be in a neutral place to scowl privately. I decided to park my car next to Argyle Park lake and watch spring unravel before me: the geese and the dog walkers and the miniature speed boat racing. I turned the radio on and off. I checked my phone, again. I fiddled with my iPod for awhile until I finally just told myself to stop. Just stop and sit there.

I thought about including what I thought about in my car, I even typed it out. But this isn't a psychotherapy session. Just know that it ended with me thinking "At least I don't do that." followed quickly by "I wish I could stop thinking like that."

But then it was time to go. So I went. I'm comforted that in about two hours I'll be asleep. And tomorrow could be better. Or it could be worse but right now I just don't know which and that's fine. I'm considering reading a big stack of fashion magazines or entertainment magazines, maybe I'll start watching this. The description on that article says it is a series that encompasses a group of six friends located in Boston. It follows them as they endure everything from the stress of life to a night on the town. 

On second thought, if one unreturned text message caused today, lord knows what THAT would do.

No comments:

Post a Comment