There are so many intelligent and articulate people covering the hard-hitting
issues in our country these days, that I felt it was my duty to cover the
rather inconsequential bullshit that tends to make up the vast majority of
our lives. Actually, I'll just be griping a lot which, if you weren't aware,
doubles as a synonym for complaining, and as a descriptor for
a sharp pain in the bowels.

Monday, March 30, 2009

Scenes From a Jane Austen Novel

So when I got home last night after a grease-inducing six hours of public transit I found myself pretty exhausted and a little bit hungry. Whenever I take public transportation after an exhausting day/night/weekend, grease is seriously the word. I've tried to figure out why it happens, in much the same way I tend to get greasy when I stay up late drinking soda and eating candy; generally my m.o. before paper writing, but I've not written a paper in a long time. In spite of my tired, greasy, and hungered ways, I had a compulsion I often feel: to run. I know, I know, I think my last entry was about running, but I mean, it's my blog and sometimes I run a lot.

There had been a weird and thick fog in the air when the bus crossed the bridge into Chinatown, and when I finally got home the promise of thunder-showers in a warm fifty degrees added some electricity to my compulsion for motion. And somehow my body found the energy to not just drag, but even bound in a fairly spritely fashion through the largely deserted streets of suburban Jersey. Of course, somewhere around ten miles my right ankle was trying to tell me the length of my run may have been a mistake but I knew I needed to keep going, and it would have been an awfully long walk at eleven o' clock at night. With less than two miles to go, the skies finally opened, bathing my scantily-clad body in a refreshing rain. My t-shirt clung to me and became translucent as only fifteen-plus year old over-washed cotton can, drooping slightly to make my shorts look even shorter.

When I finally got to my door, all I wanted to do was bask in the moment, the rain beating down on me, but it had slowed and my body quickly chilled. I thought nothing of it until I went inside and felt shivery like a character in a Jane Austen novel might after getting caught out in the rain. Luckily I didn't find myself bed-ridden a la Kate Winslet in Sense and Sensibility. Not yet anyway. Bum ankle and all, I still required no Colonel Brandon to make it home. I wanted to shower immediately but I was so hungry I changed into my rarely-used terry cloth robe and ate some cold stuffed shells, salad and cookies, and even had a couple of tugs of some Bailey's for Old Greg's sake. I was so hungry that on one bite I bit firmly down onto the tines of the fork and, though it hurt, couldn't help but smirk at my asshattery. I took a shower I never wanted to end before emerging to stare in front of this very computer screen. I considered posting something to this very effect last night, as I feel it would have captured a very different energy, but alas I was losing a battle of wits and eyelids. I'm waging that battle again, knowing that even if I succumb to sleep now it will result in an all-too early rise and perhaps some nightmares.

I was just looking through my wallet for something only to find an ATM receipt belonging to some stranger for a $60.00 withdrawal made on 3/19/09 at 1:52am. This isn't too extraordinary except that his (or her, but I am quite certain it's a male for some reason) checking balance is listed as -$58.52, meaning the individual in question had a stellar $1.48 in their account at the time. And that, that sucks.

And now, my wisdom of the day: Burning bridges can be tough unless you are just flame retarded.

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