i've been lethargic. i know that since i am here, i have no right to say that i'm averse to going outside when my beloved nyc is arctic, but i'm averse to going outside. it looks like ass. and my mom isn't around to nag me out of the house either. so i've spent most of the week in my pajamas. which is fine, b/c i have insomnia, so i might as well use sleep clothes for SOMETHING.
my insomnia, now in its sixth tenacious week, is ruling my life. my insomnia destroys my appetite so that i can barely force down one meal a day. my weight is dropping. my insomnia gives me headaches that are so excruciating, i can't get anything on my to-do list done. best of all, my insomnia robs me of my right to recharge and restore. my energy level is at historic lows. ugh.
i went to the gym. i forced myself to. threw on velvet sweats, stayed in my letters and didn't even give myself the possibility of saying no to going b/c it would mean fetching socks; oh no, there are new balance mules for that. i don't need a sports bra any more since i'm FLAT so that didn't delay me either. worry not, prudes...the good news about being in a two-letter sorority is that headlights are impossible to see through thickly embroidered greek exhibitionism. so off i went, feeling resigned and somewhat apathetic. i got to the fitness center parking lot and realised that i didn't have my rio. fuck. oh well. went in anyway. it. was. AWFUL. even though it was 7:30 at night there were people everywhere. oh, right. new year's resolutions, earnestly being carried out for at least another week or so. fabulous. give me my gym back. this SUCKS.
i finally found an elliptical machine that was free and i glumly climbed aboard. "friends" was on. wow, this show used to be good...it certainly isn't now. i plowed through manual, level 7, arms moving the handles, feet going alternately forward and backwards. bleh. at 20 minutes, my head was hurting something fierce. at 25, i started to get dizzy. i looked down at that disclaimer that is on every piece of gym equipment that tells you to get OFF the fucking machine if you feel dizzy. i smirked at it. masochistic me. five more minutes. you never do less than 30 minutes of cardio. 28 minutes. dizziness is steady. 120 seconds more...
i am gross.
i have no makeup on, and i'm the only one at the gym with loose hair. it's so heavy i didn't bother tying it.
it's not like i was doing interval training or anything...and i know, i know, people who dress up to go work out are beyond lame...that's not what i was hoping for. i don't even have lip balm on. it is even possible that some body part is ashy with dessicated skin. *shudder* basically, i'm on the bottom rung of what's good at the gym tonight. when you're in a bleh mood it's always great to realise THAT. so. let's recap. no makeup. no hair. no perfume, that's for damn sure. scruffy outfit and the piece de resistance- my scowl. i hate being lonely. all i wanted over the holidays was a day to myself, i was overwhelmed by visiting guests and social obligations...now i AM alone and it blows. my mom annoys the crap out of me when she's here, now i miss her comforting bustle and haste. my dog is no consolation. i have the most anxious, depressed dog ever. she looks at me. i look at her. we both frown. she sighs dramatically before falling over in to a dejected heap. home alone is so much more glam on celluloid.
i have not had solid food yet. there is so much in the fridge, lovingly left for me by ma. barring that, there are the emergency forms of sustenance in case i get sick or lazy; boost chocolate protein shakes, horizon organic chocolate milk, vanilla silk soymilk etc. i want none of it. nothing makes my tastebuds prickle or my mouth water. i can hear my dad's voice in my head--"what you need...is a donut." mmm, donut. when i was very little (and even not so little), in situations such as these i'd end up with the gooey sugar trifecta: glazed, maple and apple fritter. i never had the heart to tell him that i wasn't a total fan of the apple fritter. he really thought that concoction was the best of both worlds...when mom would protest my tummy being filled with CRAP he'd sanctimoniously remind her that apples were FRUIT, while winking at me. how could i not eat one, after all that?
i leave the gym to go find something loaded with transfat. now i'm a little happy...maybe i'll get donut holes. powdered. i don't like powdered, i find it messy. i'm in a strange mood tonight...
i get to the grocery store in minutes. viva suburbia. i'm one of only eight cars in the parking lot and i deliberately choose the most flawless spot; close to the door and between that cart return area and a tiny miata. you never want to park near a minivan or a van or a hulking, environment-raping (mbg excluded) SUV. right before i exit le sick civic i take a strong look around, my almost photographic (and yet surprisingly useless) memory flashing that email which alarmed me to no end; one of the most dangerous places for a woman is the grocery store or mall parking lot. apparently this is where loads of abductions occur, possibly because we're just not fucking paying attention...hence my all-consuming fixation on parking next to the toy car...by the time you try to fold me in to that thing, i'm going to give you a free sex-change. we're so consumed and distracted and worried about whether we need milk or not, we don't pay attention to things we normally might. are the windows of that van tinted? is there someone lurking near it? if you can see inside the van, is there some psychotic pervert casing you from the back seat? i shake my head at this. mindfulness people, mindfulness.
i allow myself to think of milk once i'm safely inside the near-empty store. i remember that it has gone off and grab a newer, smaller replacement. why don't they have horizon organic? i pout harder at this, thinking of whole foods in san mateo or georgetown...i shuffle ye olde new balance mules as i reluctantly mosey 'round the aisles. WHY isn't there a whole foods here? or a dean and deluca? ooooh, or a draegers? i'd DEFINITELY eat something if i was at the take-away counter at any of those. shit, if i'm only going to eat once a day, i might as well eat like a rich white person. oh wait. no job. this suddenly annoys me to no end. i don't even HAVE a draegers or d+d to gourmet binge at and i'm STILL irked. i know this is all for the best, since i have no qualms about dropping money for food. in fact, we all once calculated it, and it's actually cheaper for me to eat out. look, there's the cheese section. mmm goat cheese. i have some at home. still doesn't make me want to eat though. and there's the brie. brie...
i was never one to eat top ramen and i had my first mac and cheese at a restaurant when i was 21. it just didn't occur to me to eat these things, not when i lived at home during the vast majority of college, and there was proper malayalee thiel, thoren, chor and mor made fresh daily. make no mistake, i've gone through many a broke-ass period...i remember once in college, when my friend and i were beyond tapped out. what are we going to doooo? i asked her, my legs draped over the arm of her big comfy chair. i'm beyond anal. i hate old furniture b/c i can only imagine what germs, microbes and bugs infest them. but THIS girl was like me. everything was pretty and spotless and ridiculously maintained. i think she even had a hepa filter somewhere. so i draped freely, without guilt or fear. oh, she was vegetarian too, which is always nice.
"i'm in the mood for brie." brie? are you fucking kidding me? pick any cheese besides brie. "brie." i sighed at her. "why am i thinking of brie when i'm broke?" she pondered sadly. because. you're a jappy indian girl, like me, raised in an all-white environment, like me, and coddled by everyone, like me. "oh." don't feel bad. we just like yummy things. this barely comforts her. "get a rich bf," she pouts at me. no, you. who told you to dump mr. ucsf? "who told YOU to dump yale med, surely that qualifies YOU as the bigger idiot?" yale med wasn't going to buy you OR me brie, girly. we weren't married. we were just dating. i sit up in the big comfy chair and she notices. THIS is what we're going to do. we're going to get your brie *shudder*, we're going to get ME olives and we're going to buy wine. if we have to subsist, let's subsist like french people, on just FAT, i announce. she perks up at this. "and carr's? can we get carr's?" only if we get the cracked peppercorn ones. oh, and we have to buy a baguette. i like that look, you know, baguette peeking out of shopping bag. "ha. you want to make achar sandwiches. fake french girl." i'll eat achar out the jar. i don't need bread to justify my addiction, but now that you've mentioned it, yum. maybe we should get a cadbury..."or a lindt?"...i roll my eyes. i must REALLY like you if i'll compromise with you. fine, or lindor. if we pool the rest of what's in your sak and my polo speedy we can get it all. "we can?"
well we're not getting a rothschild. and anything that comes in safeway select, we're getting. we stand, kick on our favourite shoes, matching sandals from macy's (wedge, with cole-haan level woven leather, cherrywood-coloured) and head out the door. your car or mine? i mock her. she grimaces at me. "yours, please. i don't know why you have to rub it in." b/c it's funny. it's all funny to me. we're poor and we're off to buy brie. your parents are far wealthier than mine and they bought you THAT ugly american piece of trash, which is currently missing a bumper. "i had a mercedes once too" she replies wistfully, as she gets in on the passenger side. no worries darling. my daddy loves me more than yours does. "shut up." and the chrome rimmed and skirted v-8 roars, gypsy kings blaring.
memory fading, i grab some decaf coffee since i don't want to feed my insomnia in ANY way. and then i go to the bakery...i delayed gratification like i was supposed to...mmm...donut. except...there ARE no donuts, holes or anything worthy to substitute for them. THIS store has also been overtaken by the evil kkk (krappy krispy kreme). i fucking hate krispy kreme, and i hate their donut monopoly. there is an actual kk drive-through store less than a mile from here, yet 80% of the grocery stores stock them too. gah. i'm so concomitantly angry and defeated. what the fuck am i going to eat??? oh daddy. what i would give to have you at home, stirring atomic chole on the stove. you always knew what to do to get me to eat. i realise that i've stopped in an odd, almost inappropriate spot in the middle of the store. i've been staring off in to space. shaking my head barely breaks my reverie. okay daddy. you got me IN this mess with your damned donut ideas. now what? i close my eyes and ask him to put something yummy in front of my face...eyes open, i walk a few steps over towards the cashier, and there it is. the LAST sourdough batard...i love sourdough fiercely. when they moved me here from SF i was horrified to find an untenable lack of proper sourdough bread up here. daddy started going to SF on the weeknds to buy it and bring it back, and if HE didn't do that, my uncle paulose would schlep some parisian up with him when he came up to visit. one or the other. i would eat tonight after all.
i'm in line and about to pay when i notice the cashier; she's surprisingly pretty, with short flippy brown hair. she has very dramatic caramel highlights, the chunky kind that were in a few years ago. her face is what i am drawn to though...clear skin and a warm smile. she has very pretty hazel eyes. i'm big on eyes. i smile back. "hello," she greets me, and i'm taken aback by how sweet her tone is...
"now don't you think you're a little young for this coffee?" huh? i'm perplexed, but blurt out that um, it's actually decaf- "i mean when i was 14, i was not drinking coffee!" wait, what did you say? omg she keeps going..."coffee is not good for you, right?" and with that she turns to the barry white look-alike behind me..."tell her that she's too young for that!".
barry white sizes me up and obviously disappoints me when i hear his only medium-deep voice. "what are you, 16? 16 too young for coffee, girl. she right." he motions towards the flippy girl. but it's decaf and i'm actually 29. "what?!" flippy asks, flabbergasted. "i don't believe it. do you have kids?" me? none. "you don't look a day over 14." i find this odd, since i am wearing SORORITY letters...but i just smile. even in newly-expanded laguna, with its influx of bay area money, liberals and luxury cars, there are still people who are unaware of such things, apparently. i have a feeling she's from around here, and that she's all of 19 or 20.
barry white is not done with me yet. he is sizing me up, peering at me with one eye narrower than the other. "i'll bet you don't drink. sho' enough that's prolly your secret." he declares this decisively, it's a eureka moment. drink? it's what pickles me...my own personal formaldehyde. there. that's my secret. he gives me a blank look. sigh. i drink like a fish. "ohhhh. why didn't you say so! girl you are lucky, sho' nuff. no...your family is lucky, that's why you look like that. hell, we all lucky we get to look at you."
flippy takes over, effervescently. "when you're 40 you'll look 20! that's so great." this is all surreal. no one ever thinks i'm my age but i usually get 21 or 22, at youngest, 19. what's up with this week? on tuesday, at caffe greco, the owner was chasing away assumed pedophiles because he thought i was still in high school. now i don't mind at all, but i haven't been mistaken for a high school student in several years. it's just strange. i thank them and smile sweetly before leaving. they're still talking to me like i'm 14. "bye bye!" do i really look that young? is it the newly long hair? the lack of makeup? i cringe when i realise that i probably look teenaged b/c i'm scrawny now and curve-free. still, it's hard to believe that they thought i was THAT young. i came home and took a picture of it, so that i could remember that bizarre conversation. and so i could blog. comment freely and rampantly if you want to agree or disagree with barry and flippy. i'm finally tired and i think i might just go to sleep.