been trying, for the last twenty minutes, to cry. i seem to have forgotten how to do that. but - you know - tylenol commercials claim that crying is a great release. and so, while propped in my bed, neck uncomfortably wedged between two poly-filled pillows, i try to think up the saddest of sad thoughts (which, with my family history, isn't too difficult to dream) while staring into candlelight that twinkles to the maudlin tunes of hope sandoval and david roback. oooh. radiohead. i wish i were special, too.
and that's a bit of the predicament.
that's the thick of it.
back home, everyone thinks of me as that savvy fashion girl - the girl with the job that opens doors and makes things happen. the girl who knows whether or not to wear tights or sheer hosiery. the girl who refers to the New Look in dotty conversation. the girl who tells her 88yr old grandmother that her blouse is so ysl circa 1976.
the hell am i doing here?
oh, this sad sad music. it goes quite well with my day-old cider. [i know: i cringe at the thought of it, too]
but you see - well, i haven't had a single non-work related conversation since an awkward evening perched on a nasa bed at the hotel rivington. and, on that grand night, i remained an ungainly 3inches from the most satisfying-looking of europeans. that was the night spent with he who wore no pants. oh yes, i have my adventures. but that was 2+ weeks ago.
this past weekend was spent with blanket pulled to chin, netflix reeling from film to film, law & order's cast becoming all the more familiar. shadows lurked between hallucination and reality. nyquil's liquorish taste lingered.
my best friend called to announce her engagement and i groggily demanded the images for the company website. right now. conveniently enough, i have no recollection of said demands and like to think that i gave her jolly congratulations.
today though - what a wowzas of a day. 12hrs spent before a computer screen, racing to spit out estimate after estimate, proposal after proposal. and, between that and meetings and moments of rushed panic, was the announcement of Domino's end. however will i manage My Deco File? oh golly geez. that magazine was my beacon. my apartment recently enjoyed revamping courtesy Domino's book of decorating. and there were seconds where i paused to request fashion week tickets (herve leger! chadwick bell! phillip lim!). coworkers spun by me until the room faded into gray. finally, at 8:30, the lights flickered and all was silent. my eyes burned. i realized i hadn't stood up in hours. still, my heart raced. but in a lopsided way because it was filled with such sorrow.
amidst all of that, he-with-no-pants emailed to say he'd be back in town, just for the night, before returning to his continent. we made tentative plans for drinks. but things waivered as his flight suffered delay after delay after delay. we finally shrugged off our plans. work still loomed before me - and then an hour commute home.
and once i got home, there was the wailing cat and the frenetic pup. my darlings, my joy. but sometimes it's human contact that's so desperately needed. conversation beyond small talk or chit-chat or brainstorming or reserving conference rooms or reviewing budgets. last week, my dear friends suggested i leave work an hour early one night a week and do something for just me. but, the truth is, leaving work an hour early means leaving at 6pm instead of 7. and leaving at 6pm means that i really should do the laundry or clean the dishes or sweep or dust or do something constructive like take that first French lesson that i've been delaying or reserve some time to do something entirely indulgent like watch an hour of tv. or read the new yorker. i forget the smell of books. new shoes, however, are pungent.
and so i feel myself fade. the body shrinks from its diminished appetite. clothes that once were too small now hang from my frame. but there's not enough time for lunch or even a healthy snack. even the office vending machine has fallen victim to the current times and now only serves greasy generic potato chips for $1. we once indulged in honey wheat pretzels and dried fruit. now it's entenmenn's pound cake. untouched for over a month now. mmmm.
creativity sapped dry. the desire to hunt and search and feel and live and thrive slowly dissolves. until there isn't much energy left for batty eyes or subway conversation. been thinking about photographing people's shoes on the subway - but what would they think of that?
and then, when i think of my first years here (oh the loft in soho for $1k a month!), i think of a fairytale land. a twinkling, glimmering world of champagne fountains and truffle mountains. suitors who insisted upon paying the bill. my desk's underbelly still carries the faint memory of those gleeful years - at times, we'll chance upon a few boxes of hermes ties or a carton of forgotten killian fragrances.
but today - - today the mind aches, the heart breaks...
and we're never coming back.
