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Need a Little Depressing in Your Day? READ ON!

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New York can be an impossible city. It can feel like wheels under your feet spun out of control, unwilling to wait while you regain your footing and catch a breath, even for just a second. If you don’t put up a fight, it’ll swallow you in it’s roaring streets and thick breasted sky scrapers that you look at with your head pulled straight back and mouth gaping open, and it’ll spit you out a carcass with hardly a beating pulse. Sometimes I feel like I’m the loneliest person on earth. Well, it’s a funny thing walking down a street with herds of people to your right, your left, cutting off your stride straight ahead and on your heels directly behind, yet feeling alone. Really alone. The suffocating feeling of knowing that you could slowly melt into the mass of numb bodies and become lost under their shuffle without a second thought. You could be hit by a subway car, and somewhere a few stops down the line there’ll be hundreds of people dismayed at the delays at the hands of another undisclosed “police investigation,” sighing in, sighing out, scoffing as they stare at the hands go round and round their ticking watches. There’s no time. No one’s got time. No time to drag your feet, no time to be indecisive, no time to explain, no time to take your time. And what I still can’t figure out is what is this hustle for? Where do I need to be that I can’t wait for the next train? No, I need to have that woman’s butt smashed on my thighs cuz I don’t have time to wait for that train. So I’ll get on this train, I’ll touch that woman’s butt, I’ll smell that guy’s breath, I’ll get hit in the face with that book, as long as it’s this train and not the next.  

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Diary III

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There was a snow/ice/sleet storm in NYC today, which means I might as well have been steeping my feet in soggy hot dog buns all day. You know when you have “waterproof shoes” that either were falsely marketed or are over worn to the point of absorbing water? Hey, it’s 2014 so I guess it’s just as likely that we’re all being tricked into buying shoes made out of cotton balls as it is that I’m a disgruntled-yet-too-lazy millennial and need to stop wearing shoes with holes in them. But the fact that remains steadfast and true is that all day I could feel the skin under my toes squirming as it shapeshifted from dried prune to drier prune. And because my shoes are inverted rubber bags, they made damn sure no water was goin anywhere but on those toes. On top of which, my boss hoards dirty dishes like I hoard XL Gap Kids underwears, resulting in what often looks like poop splattered dishes heaping over the top of a bathtub sized sink (if that’s not registering, that’s A LOT OF DISHES), so there’s no room to get even a trickle of water from the faucet unless I ricochet it off a plate with old, caked on meatloaf sauce and wait for it to trickle into my mouth like waiting for the final tee in Happy Gilmore (in which he bounces the ball from a car windshield to a metal thing to another metal thing to a third metal thing to more metal things). Why does it always seem like being soggy and thirsty is the worst possible combination? Or do you think as long as my toes were waterlogged for 12 hours it’s basically like being hooked up to an i.v. water pump? I dunno, you tell me.

Time for bed,

Isabel