It had been a misanthropic kind of day. After toiling away at work for a mere two hours, followed by another two in the lab, I called it quits and left under the pretense of needing to buy socks. At H&M, I picked up a colourful five-pack of ugly socks. Everywhere around me people pushed their obtuse way through shoddily made metallic clubwear. I dropped the socks back into the bin with their ugly friends. There was no way I was standing in line. Holy socks be damned.
By the time I got home, I sounded like Canice. Profanity was my friend. Turning on my space heater in our chilly apartment, I crawled under my duvet. I had a two hour nap in bed, and woke up when the day was gone. Dinner was made. I ate too much. I told Natty I wasn't leaving the house, and I settled down to read the 100-Mile Diet, but fell asleep instead.
Nightmares. Dreams of old high school friends. I woke up, feeling anything but refreshed. "You should come out," Natty offered. It was an invitation of politeness. She knew I wouldn't accept it. I knew I wouldn't accept it. "Maybe," I told her, going into my room, shutting the door behind me.
This was pathetic. I hadn't been out in weeks. I had spent five hours of my day sleeping and I was planning on staying in so that I could do what, sleep some more? What good is sitting around and nursing this eye virus anyway?
Shower. Shave. I was ready to go in under an hour.
We went to a martini bar in Yorkville that's owned by one of Natty's friends that she used to work with.
I left Julia and Natty to fend for themselves.
And joined up with Sasha and Court on College Street. We went to say hi to Nando, then ended up at the College Street Bar. "College Street is dead, man," I heard one bouncer say to the bartender. And it was. We made the best of it. After all, I had finally managed to leave the house.
It was well worth it.
(Although the raging red leaky eyes I woke up to on Saturday morning may beg to differ.)
And then. More sleep.