Alright, it's official: I'm certifiably restless. And it's in the worst way.
Today I resigned myself to hankering down and tending to my oft-neglected side-job, updating the East Bay/North Bay database for Gayot.com, of which I am paid very little but does give me a slight insight into the culinary aspect of my surroundings albeit by much Internet research (i.e. I am on my computer all day, not eating or actually seeing any said "surroundings"). Needless to say, by 3 o'clock, I was bored enough to attempt further investigation into this whole "napping" phenomenona all the successful business schmucks seem so high-and-mighty about.
Despite my 45 minute-alarm clock, I woke up at 5, ravenous and bad-tempered. The term "howling at the moon" comes to mind, but not in the trashy-sexy, Coyote Ugly kind of way. I'm thinking grittier, more primal, maybe more tragic-comedy like "American Werewolf in London" circa 1981.
And it was bad--helpless bad, as in, I didn't know where to go or what to do. But I knew before anything that I had to take the dog (Sasha's, "Philly) for a walk first. And as we crossed the street--me, head down and hellbent toward the park--a car came barrelling right at us, high-speed. My heart jumped out of my chest as I thrust myself between the menacing vehicle and my furry cohort, yelling.
The car screeched to a stop. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry," said the woman inside. "But it's dark, and you're wearing black."
Yes, I muttered and moved along to the other side. Figures, I thought to myself. Nobody can see me. Isn't that appropriate?
1 comment:
Invisible? Never.
Post a Comment