That's what time I finally heeded my cats' cries for food and rolled out from under the comforter this afternoon. This followed a midnight bedtime so, despite a couple abortive attempts to get up around 10 and head to yoga, I'll call that 12.5 hours of sleep that was probably totally necessary.
Since I usually only sleep 6 and many of today's waking hours were accompanied by coffee, I estimate I'll be up now until at least 3 or 4 a.m., burning off that excess rest.
Hmm.
It's 11:05 and I've got a whole evening in front of me .... and I've been reviewing recent blog entries, albeit with some nausea. I find myself wishing I wanted to shed self-pity and write a bravura pitch of female empowerment and enthusiasm.
How I love (instead of merely like) everything I'm doing at the moment, including 4 weekly 3-hour rehearsals for the next 3 months.
How I most definitely don't need a man and how I should have apologized last Saturday even in the face of irrationality.
How I can't wait to rewrite my OKC profile to ditch the sexy cynicism and reference to "strong hands," searching for some approach that will stop getting me treated like a smart, witty-yet-disposable sex object while attracting something besides vanilla cuddlers in their late 40s.
How I can't wait to do something for my dating life besides looking online, even though I've taken up 3 hobbies that only offer social opportunities with married, or gay, or much older gay and married men.
How I don't really get laid low by my time of the month like I said I did.
(Although I know full well once you admit that you can never take it back.)
Kind of wish I felt that way.
Instead, today I just wished I had someone to take care of me. It was the moment at 5 p.m. I walked out to find my car only to not find it .... which could only mean that the City of Boston had gotten its meathooks into it.
Sure enough. The spot on Dorchester Street I legally parked in Wednesday night turned illegal Friday from 9 a.m.-5 p.m. to make room for a moving truck. The parking spot was not in my walk-to-bus route, so I didn't see these signs. Several phone calls yielded, helpfully, that the parking department is closed both Saturday afternoons and Sundays and that it will cost $15 per day in storage fees, in addition to the towing costs and the parking citation.
Which means that it is Saturday night, my car is chilling in the city tow-lot and costing me several hundred dollars to do so, and I am sitting in my running shorts, alone next to the espresso machine at Trident Booksellers on Newbury, fending off 21-y-olds wanting to chat on OKC, blogging about my lack of a date, and trying to concentrate as the undergrad next to me tries to impress the bartender by asking her ceaseless questions about the Italian Ice syrup bottles.
It's a scintillating life, although I'm not complaining about it.
I just kind of wish I had someone to come give me a ride home.
1 comment:
@Karin. Hope you made it home safely. As for us men, eh, we're not that important in the long term. Be good to yourself.
Post a Comment