A Cracked Plate

A bad case of senioritis, of a plate too full and about to crack once again. Last night, I tossed and turned in a fitful sleep. The roommate left for the left coast, and is visiting the folks. The apartment is now all mine again (I sound like a spoiled child, don't I?).

However, the ADD self is resurfacing stronger than ever. A grand sign was yesterday night as I dashed from work to the church. (Yes, Thursday evenings is Catholic church class. Ever since I mentioned that to the mystery man, aka the anti-boyfriend, he's been silence like a sphinx. Didn’t even comment about it.) I huffed and puffed and plunged into the class, with 16 other people already there. I barely made it on time and was red in the face from the cold.

In order to make life tick I’ve been spending a lot of moolah; I outsourced the laundry, which cost a grand $11 because I had to tip the laundry boy; came close to once again turning to Fresh Direct for grocery shopping; outsourced the stained skirt and bag to the dry cleaner around the corner.

The nomadic thoughts continue to drift. Yesterday morning, I also had a hard time leaving the house because I thought of buying a new bathing suit, thought of getting a waxing, getting a manicure, fretted over guy troubles. It was 9:45 a.m. by the time I made the mad dash to the already mad subway stop. I am always breathless and sweaty at each destination, and I look like a deer caught in headlights.

There are signs that one should pause and stop. On a date, I called the young man by the wrong name, what was his name? Last night after I’d fallen into slumber, I was awaken by a knocking on the door? Here was the New York moment when I’d finally be robbed and raped I thought, so terrified I couldn't move. The knocking stopped and then continued. I wondered if it was the crazy neighbor across the hall who has a busted door that sometimes locks her out. Then this morning, the mystery was solved. My keys were hanging on the door, and the knocker was trying to see if maybe something was wrong.

As for men, i feel like giving up, how dare god invent these creatures who cause me so much pain and heart break? Maybe I’m in the ‘pity me’ attitude because it's Valentine's Day around the corner.

The wonderful thing about keeping insanely busy is that I’ve become somewhat numb to the anti-boyfriend. So what if he doesn't call or email anymore, I don't need more stress and baggage in my life but I’ll take the free meal.