I opened my eyes this morning at 7:20 with a new outlook on life. I told myself I'm not going to let anything get me down today. I'm simply trading in my gloom and doom for a shiny new positive attitude, and no one is going to take it away from me. I'm gonna start the day with a bang, and keep on truckin' through. This is gonna be great. It's gonna be a great day!
I click on the TV, and the first thing I hear is Sally Ann Weather Lady saying, "Well...It is going to be a miserable day, folks".
(Back to the drawing board.)
Sally Ann says it is already 84 degrees in the city and it's going up to 96, but factoring in the humidity and my depression, it will feel more like 600 degrees. There is also a "bad-air advisory" in effect. So, if possible, we shouldn't breathe the air outside. Thanks for telling me, Sally Ann, 'cause I totally would have. You know me with the air! I would have been breathing the stuff all day! I'll try and stick to breathing something else until you give me the go-ahead. Like milk.
Enough of Sally Ann, I say. I'm not going to let her negativity and frizzy, unmanageable hair stand in the way of my fantastic new outlook. I'm going to jump right in the shower and get out the door super early so that I can take a nice, slow, leisurely trip to work in this unbearable heat. Things are going really great. I stroll down the street, listening to some relaxing new music I just put on my ipod, and up the stairs to the subway platform, where the train is stalled, and overflowing with what appears to be the entire borough of Queens. Bloody arms and legs are hanging out the window, babies are screaming, people are crying and thrashing about violently, climbing over others, trying to find their families. It is Auschwitz on the N train.
I manage to somehow rearrange my molecular structure and pour myself into a small crevice of this chaotic mass. There is no air conditioning. I remain there, contorted, for about 10 minutes before the conductor announces, "After an earlier incident at Lexington Avenue, we are going to hold you here with no AC, and your face buried in a fat Middle Eastern man's underarm until you are sufficiently late for work. We apologize for the inconvenience." (My positive outlook has begun to lose its luster.) After 10 more minutes, we hear the magic words we've been waiting for, "Stand clear of the closing doors, please." After another 12 minutes of trying to close the doors on passengers' broken limbs, we finally take off. By this point I have unwillingly and unknowingly had sexual intercourse with nine strangers.
Over the next half hour, we slowly creep our way into the city, and with nearly 20 casualties and countless injuries, we arrive at my final destination, Grand Central. Before exiting the train, I responsibly get the names, phone numbers, and sexual histories of all those I've just had forced relations with on the ride over, should anything pop up down the line. I race through the polluted air to my office, with no time to stop for my leisurely breakfast.
It is now 9:15AM, and I am back to my usual negativity. (It's good to be home.) I sit here at my desk, wheezing, dripping with perspiration, regretting ever having gotten out of bed this morning, and looking forward to 6:00, when I can trade in my shiny new outlook for a shiny new bottle of wine and some pills.