My name is Discontent

I woke up this morning, peered blindly at the clock (no glasses on) and hit the small, squarish, elusive ‘reset’ button. I used to have a love affair with the snooze button, given how often I used it. But it’s an old clock (we never thought to add one to the registry) so a couple of the buttons no longer work. ‘Snooze’ is one of them. Sonny and I cuddled up together, disrupted by the irritating beeps, and went comatose for about a half an hour. And then he rolled out bed and climbed into the shower. Traitor. I found it kind of hard to just fall back asleep. Instead, I danced on the edges of sleep and meditative thought. By the time Sonny emerged from the foggy bathroom with a wet faux-Mohawk I was upset. Didn’t really know why. Visions of staying in bed with the covers up to my neck haunted me. And so I convinced myself that I might just stay home and take it easy. I’ve never missed a day of work, since I started... wups. Ok. That’s not true. Of course there’s the time I got married and had taken a few days for the ceremony and mini honeymoon. Hmm. Puts a small dent in my logic, doesn’t it?

Well, anyway, it seems like I’m falling into this horribly boring, perpetual routine. I wake up, go to work, come home, eat dinner, go to sleep, wake up, go to work… And on the weekends, maybe just maybe I get some writing done. Maybe do the laundry. You’re probably tired of the comparison by now but I’ll draw it anyway. In NY every weekend was a fucking potential adventure. You never quite knew what old friend would be breezing through town, or what silent classic was in reel at the Film Forum, or what party you might be invited to. Don’t get me wrong, we had our boring ass weekends in NY too. And Sundays never quite felt ‘right’…maybe cause we aren’t church goers. But you still felt that at 11pm you could hop on the F train, have a great Thai dinner at Joya or some place and call it a night. I’m afraid that I will have an immeasurable hatred for pizza by the time we move. Is it possible? YES! My waist and thighs are expanding at an alarming speed. I suppose this is what happens when there are 6 pizza places in town and maybe 1 health food store. Needless to say, I’m just feeling very vulnerable and very blobby right now.

What is the matter with me?