Rambling On

I look through the window next to my desk to see the reflection of the skyscraper in which I work in the mirror windows of the skyscraper across the street. Our building is called the Lipstick building because it is oval and has three levels (terraces) which resemble open lipstick. All the skyscrapers along third avenue have so many windows. If a sound wave was disbursed through the Island of Manhattan, high enough for glass to burst, there will be a typhoon of glass raining down from the skyscrapers.

I type relatively fast on the keyboard. I didn’t use to type like that. One day, my ex and I were at Office depot, and he bought me software that teaches you to type. The software was full of games. In one of the games a shark swam after you, trying to eat you, and you had to type faster and faster to avoid being eaten. No looking at your fingers. I always got eaten. I’m glad I type fast now, don’t have to deal with sharks casualties anymore.

During the course of the day at my job, I do a lot of typing, perhaps 5-6 hours. I wonder if continuous typing makes the tips of my fingers flatter and rougher, until one day the skin of my fingertips is so hard, I could touch poison ivy without consequences. If that was ever to happen I will join the circus under the name of the Poison Ivy Tamer. So this is basically my retirement plan, just in case I cannot support myself on social security.

Cherry Dreams

On my lunch break today I went to deposit 100 bucks. I had bought a pound of cherries, which I could not stop eating. The banker, who accepted the deposit, could not help but ask me if I brought him something to eat too. I told him that I might, but first he has to deposit couple of million dollars to my account. Ok – he said – meet me at the lockers at Grand Central, we’ll split the money. Ok – I said – I’ll bring the cherries, you bring the million. I could see in his eyes that he meant it, however his laughter made me confused.

I headed back to the office after my lunch break, packed up my stuff, turned to my boss, and politely told him to go fuck himself. Waved a middle finger at my colleagues and took off. I had 5 hours till the Grand Central station meeting to kill.

I purchased a large sun-hat, gum, cigarettes and made a down payment on a Mercedes. I had just four dollars left in my pocket – enough to buy a pound of the nicest cherries.

I waited on Grand Central. And I continued to wait on the Grand Central. And then he showed, and he had the money. I gave him the cherries, and he gave me a bag pack with money. Nice doing business with you – he said. The pleasure is all mine – I replied. Coffee sometime – he said. Now, let’s not get too personal – I said. Oh, sorry, are you married? – he asked. Nah, just in a very loving, and deeply committed relationship – I replied. We said goodbye and I headed towards the sunset to pick up my vehicle.

A Day

It is 5 pm, the start of the final hour at work, my mind already wanders to the time I’ll change into my sneakers, pick up my bag and head to the train station. I will get on the N train for 7 stops and alternate between staring at my shoes and staring at the faces of my fellow passengers. I will get off the train and be amazed on what a sunshiny/rainy/breezy/snowy/gray day it is out. Will walk slowly home, climb up the five story tower, toss my bag on the floor, and toss myself on the couch reaching for the remote.

The next few hours will be devoted to brainlessly devouring cartoons and sitcoms. Finally around the hour of 8, I will start to feel guilty that I haven’t done anything for my mental/career development such as studying for GMAT, studying a foreign language, reading a book, or even writing my memoirs. I’ll scout the fridge for something not too fattening to eat and either munch on a piece of cheese, or eat some yogurt.

For some time now I have been terrified of my flabby armpit skin hanging like a hound dog’s ears. I decided that I might have lost the battle with my stretched marked ass, however I’m not about to give up on my upper body (of which I’m quite fond) so I started lifting weights while watching TV.

I don’t own dumbbells, so I scouted the apartment for something heavy and not too uncomfortable to hold. My sight wandered to the numerous foreign artifacts my boyfriend owns. Majority of them are presents from his Mom, souvenirs from her many travels abroad. The collection includes snowglobe-shaped candleholder, a wooden hippopotamus, a stone African man’s head, a stone elephant, wooden giraffe, Russian matryoshkas, handpainted table cloths, handpainted jewelry box, stone chessboard, etc. All of these treasures, carefully arranged for display on the entertainment center in the living room, give the room the feel of a bohemian museum.

The wooden hippo, of all, was the heaviest, however, quite bulky to lift. The winners were the snowglobe candleholder and the African head, which I would lift with my hands wide open over my head while watching Frasier. The hour of 10 will roll around, and the feeling of a wasted, perfectly sunshiny/rainy/breezy/snowy/gray after-work hours will settle darkly over my mind, leaving me to ponder, how am I ever going to accomplish my dreams. I’ll take a shower, pop a sleeping pill (a bad habit developed a year ago), and hit the hay.

Hurts

You know when you love somebody so much, and you suddenly start dreaming of happy family life (if that exists anyways). And then despite the fact that you are so much alike, you both want different things, and that tears you apart.

It’s nobody’s fault really, we both want different things, and I knew this from the beginning, except that I thought that I’m fine with that. We tried to make it work, but it’s me – I seem to loose my mind, and lately without even a reason.

I feel broken inside. I try to think on the positive side (separating will do us both good), and yet my mind keeps wandering to the good times we had – are we making a mistake (should we give it another try). And how many times can we try before I completely loose my mind.