Everything is wrong with me
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
some morning numbers
The last time I saw on the clock last night before falling asleep, despite being in bed for two and a half hours. I was unable to fall asleep because when I am alone in the dark I become a psychopath (and not the cool kind). I spent that time worrying about such topics as:

- "Am I having a heart attack?"
- "Did I turn off the burners on the stove?"
- "Man, I really need to get going on these Christmas cards."
- "Did I set my alarm?"
- "I really need my Christmas bonus to be huge, or otherwise I am fucked."
- "I should have put that chicken breast in the chilli tonight and let it marinate. Fuck."
- "Seriously, I think I am having a heart attack."

4:51, 5:41, 6:22
Times I saw on my clock as I woke up intermittently throughout the night, worrying about the above topics. I'd like to take this time to go on record to say that six months of therapy for my sleeping problems worked wonders.

Therapy flashback:
Therapist: "How are you Jason?"
Me: "Really tired. Can I get some sleeping pills?"
Therapist: "No. Now tell me again about your parents' divorce."
Me: "Didn't we talk about that last week, and every week before it?"
Therapist: "Yes, and let's do so again."
Me: "I really don't think that's the problem."
Therapist: [interrupting] "So you say the problems at home started in first grade..."

Time I eventually got out of bed (I usually get up at 7:45)

Time I got to the elevator on my floor and pushed the "down" button.

Time I finally got to the lobby, after waiting for the elevator for ten minutes. Surprisingly, another elevator is broken in our building. After each of the three was shut down for a week for repairs, causing incredible homicide-inducing delays, there is another problem. This time, one of the elevators has a loose cable. And, of course, it's going to take a week to repair it, because that's the minimum amount of time it takes to repair any problem in an elevator that services 1200 people. I'm expecting next to see a memo from the management saying:

"Please be advised that elevator #2 will not be in operation for the next ten days. The button for the 19th floor does not light when it is pressed, and we will be repairing this faulty button during this time. We apologize for the huge inconvenience this will cause, and how it will basically ruin every day for you for the next ten days. Thank you for your cooperation and fuck you."

Time I got to the subway at 96th & Lexington.

After just missing the previous train, time the next subway train finally came.

Time, in minutes, the train sat in the station, with its doors open and packed with people, before moving. Five minutes may not seem like a long time, and it isn't a long time when you're catching a beejer or getting a lap dance. But five minutes trapped in a cramped train, after you've already waited for your elevator and said train for over twenty minutes, standing next to an extremely fat woman who's breathing through her mouth and doing so VERY loudly - that can be a very, very long five minutes.

Time, in minutes, it took me to get from my apartment into a moving train.

Time, in minutes, this should take.

Time, in minutes, it took me every day to get from my apartment door to my office building when I lived on the Lower East Side.

(Can you tell I'm still a little bitter about moving to the wasteland that is the Upper East Side? Because I am. A lot.)

Level of hatred, on a scale of 1 to 10, I felt for a (different) morbidly obese woman sitting in front of me (as I stood) on the train, reading the paper no more than two centimeters away from her face. Seriously, the paper had to be touching the tip of her nose. This got me very pissed off and led to this fantasy exchange:

Me: [breaking down] "God damn it! Why do you have to read the paper so close to your damn face?!?"
Fat Woman: [sad] "I have bad eyesight!"
Me: [getting angrier] "Well maybe if you didn't eat so many fucking hoagies your eyesight wouldn't be so bad, you fucking truck!"

Minutes late I was to work

Number of times I was corrected by co-workers or superiors in our Tuesday morning status meeting for misstating what I was working on, misstatements due to ignorance, incompetence, exhaustion, and anger.



I am going home at 6pm and getting $12 worth of Taco Bell, eating a pint of Haagen Dazs Vanilla Caramel Brownie, getting high in my tub, rubbing one out, and then going to bed at 8:30.

Thank you.

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