Tuesday, March 22, 2005

I only have time to write three sentences.

There's no better way to start off your day than turning off your alarm in the dark, groping for your pants, blindly tying your shoes, unthinkingly packing your lunch [which, when you later investigate why your bag is clunking so loudly, turns out to be an entire unopened can of Campbell's tomato closed inside a recycled plastic wonton soup container], and stumbling into your car in hopes of straddling the edge of consciousness long enough to pilot your vehicle to the train station and board the 6:46 where you can steal another hour's worth of sleep, only to have your fragile morning constitution rattled before you even get out of your neighborhood when you have to swerve 2 Fast 2 Furious-style around some 2 gross 2 handle roadkill, which--for those souls sadly denied the sight of the rotting carcass on Rt. 202 in Yorktown--was probably at some point a deer, at least until it was decimated by a driver out even earlier than you, but you can't be entirely sure of the species because you were distracted from taxonomic accuracy by the way the dawn's burgeoning rays played delicately on the blood still glistening on its revolting, exposed ribcage.

One.

To make matters worse, when you do get to the station the crazy lady whose nutty clothes you enjoy so very much appears to have undergone an Oprah makeover and is sporting not only pinstriped pants and pointy black pumps, but a Louis Vuitton tote in place of the shopping bag she usually carries, and even though she's still wearing a fuzzy white newsboy cap, it now looks like the kind of strange accessory that's acceptable because the wearer is obviously filthy rich and understands style in a way that you couldn't even begin to comprehend because when you bought your shoes they were attached to each other with an elastic band to prevent theft, whereas when she bought hers they were placed on her feet by an attractive salesman while another served her an espresso, and try as you might not to hate her, you get on the train muttering "sell-out" at her in your head, but you put a stop to that when you find a great seat, I mean, a really great seat, put your hood up, close your eyes and begin to drift back into that deep blue oblivion your daily obligations so rudely part you from, only to be jolted once again back to this dreadful plane (but it's worse than that--you're also on a dreadful train) by a man emitting a snore so loud it is medically fascinating.

Two.

All this to get to work, and work is work; it's never anything but work, a fact that after six months you have grown to find almost comforting, until you remember how emotions besides "dire boredom" and "spiritual bankruptcy" feel and you check Hotjobs.com one more time just in case something was posted between midnight last night and eight-fifteen this morning, and though it hasn't, you can always hope that something really fantastic will be posted today, or, better yet, that a bus hits you on the way back to the subway and you sue the city for billions, write a book about your trials and tribs while they reconstruct your legs, and you collect whatever the product of "billions" times "book deal" is, an equation you can only hope equals "record deal" or "talk show," or, at the very least, "no more photocopying, ever" and "hot water that actually comes out of the hot water spout when all you want is a goddamn cup of tea, because otherwise all you end up with is cold beige water."

Three.

4 Comments:

Blogger Kunaxa said...

K,

Was the road-kill mess too big to drive over? or did you recently get new tires put on your car?

1:41 PM  
Blogger What'sHerFace said...

More that I would've thrown up if any part of my car touched any part of the...parts.

2:23 PM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

Ho junk....I too saw the carcass ribs this morning. I slowed down to investigate...the ribs were pretty big but if it was a deer where the hell did the head and legs go? I suspect a werewolf.
MaHOpac aka Kai

3:21 PM  
Blogger What'sHerFace said...

TOTALLY a werewolf. I mean...a car wouldn't rip a deer open, would it? And also eat its head and legs like so many McNuggets? I suspect Christina Ricci is in our midst.

3:30 PM  

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