The mad, mad world of babysitting sucked me back into its sticky clutches this week. What can I say, I’m addicted to cutting up fruit and arranging it into shapes. Also, I like children more than adults.
I had to get up and head to the financial district by 7:00 every morning this week, and then I stayed up late rehearsing for a show that opens tonight, so I’m pretty tired. When I’m tired I eat a lot of junk food, and then I get even more tired. And then I eat more junk food. And then I get constipated, and my whole world falls apart. And that’s how I do Routine.
Today was the last day I had to take the kids to school. It was a pretty calm week, so naturally, it was capped with a spectacular feu de joie, involving: a wheelchair, a slow moving child recovering from a broken leg, refusing to just ride in the wheelchair, 12-13 kids and the unyielding pressure of getting somewhere on time while relying on the MTA’s chimerical methods of communication, a tree frog in a huge bag, a Spongebob pillow, and an excessive, yet rational, fear for the life of a dwarf hamster in the hands of a small child. And so many stairs. So, so many stairs.
But it all worked out. I said bye to the kids and headed to the C train. When I got to the top of the stairs, I looked down and saw only a black, gaping pit. Deep below, I thought I heard a sewer alligator challenge a mutant street musician to combat, and then a growling noise. I’m too young to die and I was close to the Brooklyn Bridge, so I decided to walk home.
Since it was a beautiful morning and I had nothing but time, I went the romantic route and bought myself a cup of coffee at a waffle stand. The waffle guy was feeling “SPLENDID” because it wasn’t raining, so he gave me two free cookies. I left him a 75% tip because I really love nice people. The paper cup was covered in syrup, and the coffee tasted like dark roasted poison, but the dim glow of a new morning lit the sky and the fresh air breezed pleasantly across my face and I wasn’t going to let a $4.00 cup of toxic mud get me down.
There goes a selfie of myself that I sent to Cole with the caption “Make it count.” That was the first take, just, fyi. Also, it looks kinda gloomy in this picture, but at the time it didn’t feel that gloomy.
NYC mostly sucks, but moments like these make me feel particularly sentient of the unique things the city has to offer. A man walked by me and said, “Good morning, Beautiful,” and I’m never sure if I should allow men to get away with this behavior, but I really do like nice people, so in my haste to reciprocate, I walked into one of those thick wires that holds the bridge up and dumped coffee all over myself. A biker passed by and scoffed at me as my scarf burst into flames. I became nervous about what it was doing to my insides.
I’ve been waiting for spring to come so I can get hit with that giant feeling of inspiration and renewal that rides in on the sunshine. Today it felt like everything was moving in the right direction. Goodbye winter! Get on the MTA and go straight to hell where you both belong!
About halfway across the bridge, it hit me. Not necessarily an artistic epiphany or a wave of motivation, but something was moving, and it was definitely a moment I had been waiting for all week. I wasn’t literally constipated anymore! If this were a work of fiction, I would elaborate with a hilarious poop story. But it really only ends with a miserable bus ride home.
And that’s New York City for you. The roses here are singular in their beauty, and you can stop to smell them and get your picture taken with them. Just keep in mind that a stranger might be pooping in the garden.