Fun time detox

I’m suffering from PVR (post-vacation retardation). I’m trying to “hang in there” for my boss, but I must say, this has been the longest work day of my freaking life. I had six hours of sleep, which would be satisfactory under normal circumstances, but truly, I got out of bed this morning and made my way to the shower with my eyes 70% closed. Heard something or other about Ricky Martin being gay on the radio, and now here I am.

I’m not asking for pity. I just want to bring awareness to this condition, as it can severely affect one’s well-being for a number of days, if proper care isn’t taken. The symptoms include, but aren’t limited to:

1. Spontaneous falling-asleepness
2. Ugliness (especially of the face and hair)
3. Mild hallucinations
4. Short-term memory loss
5. The shakes (a result of alcohol and tobacco withdrawal)
6. Caffeine cravings
7. Incoherence / lifelessness of speech
8. Weight loss (don’t mind this one so much. probably a result of #4 – forgetting to eat)

These may not be alarming individually, but together, they are severely debilitating. I have managed to tag 300+ pictures on Facebook today, but my lackluster comments are clear indicators of my condition; where I may, in good health, have created a real LOL in one or two short sentences, I debated, deleted, and finally, defeated, left a shameful few words barely worthy of a ‘ha.’ It would be a real downer if it weren’t for the fact that, thanks to symptom #4, I am also easily distracted. I can’t even remember to remain disappointed at myself for longer than a few seconds. My eyes are drawn to the door, to which I must walk, open, and take even MORE steps to enter the kitchen.

Mmm, the kitchen. There’s probably Passover leftovers. My back hurts. Maybe I can just close my eyes for a little bit. Mmmm… I’ll put my head down too. I’ll hear steps if someone comes this way. Swedish House Mafia and Armin were so good. I looked really nice in that dress. Agh, I want a beer and an empanada and the beach and a book. Can’t believe I finished that book. I thought I was gonna start seeing demons on my shoulder too. They had a lot of sex. I wonder if I would cheat on my boyfriend if I were touring in a rock n’ roll band. I need to pee. It’s all this coffee I’m drinking and it’s not even working. Oh my god, I need to close the month for each of the companies by like, Friday. FUCK, it’s only 12:27????

As you can imagine, the thoughts continued, looming over the happiness I felt less than 48 hours ago. Where there were boys flirting with me, is now my boss with lease contract jargon. The brief , refreshing rain has been replaced by the cold, persistent showers of New England. I’m wearing more clothes than I care to, none as cute as the sarongs I casually wrapped around my neck. I hear silence and the occasional too-loud ring of the telephone (GOD, don’t they know I JUST got back?) instead of sick beats and laughter.

I’ve got a useless, slow brain that refuses to come up with decent closure to this excuse for a blog post. It’s sharp enough, however, to realize it’s time to go home and fucking crash.

Here comes the sun, doo doo doo doo

It’s finally spring. It’s finally fucking spring!  Where there was gray slush, now are leaves, dog poo, and what looks like phlegm.  Once frozen park benches are now warm under bottoms of the malodorous drunken homeless and of chicos on their cell phones. And I… put on a dress. Maybe because it reminds me of my Catholic school uniform days, or because I crave a little breeze around otherwise mostly covered parts… I love wearing skirts. Paired with my man boots, a pretty flowy dress puts a smile on my face and makes me feel most comfortable. Comfortable enough to take a stroll around town, deep in gay thoughts, not minding if I look like a retard.

There are two songs I’m compelled to listen to, back to back, during my two hour outdoors adventure with the doggie: Sister Hazel’s “All for You” and Blues Traveler’s “Run Around.” I don’t know why. I don’t own any other songs by either, though I enjoyed the whole of the Blues Traveler’s live show at Lollapalooza a couple years back. Nevertheless, I got the pink harness and retractable leash on little Tori and off we were to the park.

She went about her usual business of eliminating all her body’s disposable drops of water on many different spots, marking virtually ALL territory, and rolling around in god knows what. She needs a bath anyway, I’m pretty sure there’s still a faint skunky funk left on her fur.

As for me, I chased her a little, threw sticks she ran in the direction of, but never managed to retrieve, checked my emails and then turned up the volume. With Sun rays recharging my brain, penetrating my skin and warming up chest, arms, and legs that no longer need artificial layers, I smiled. And then I started to sing. A couple of the chicos looked at me funny, so I walked away. Away from them and the homeless and the cute Asian family having a picnic, and the grandpa taking a stroll with his tiny tyke, and the kids passing time, circling around on their bikes. I went to the other side of the park where I hoped no one would hear me, and I sang lyrics to these optimistic and silly little tunes that, in conjunction with the Sun, helped me pause time on happy, careless, and perhaps slightly dumb mode. No matter.

I turned the volume way up and I couldn’t tell how loud I was, but I could feel the openness of my throat and the plentiful air brushing my vocal cords. I walked around some more, chasing the dog, taking some pictures, and still singing.

It’s too nice out for laundry, vacation packing, the mechanic, air conditioning or even to sit here, longing for something I should be finding out there.