Every single morning I bring my coffee outside so I can stare at the East River for six minutes. I always stand in the exact same place, next to the exact same tree. (In case you're a murderer and you're looking for me - hope that helps narrow down my whereabouts, friend!) Even when it's raining and I have to put my coffee down in order to hold an umbrella, this is one of the times of the day I like best. No one tells me to do it. No one's expecting me to be there. It's honestly the only time all day long that I am alone. And even then, I'm not truly alone - there's the odd dog walker, the odd taxi pulling up, the odd girl standing next to a tree in semi-darkness - you know. Sometimes during those six minutes I'll have a thought, and I'll think, I ought to write that thought down. But usually as soon as I get back inside the only thing I'm thinking about is what color eyeshadow I can rub on my eyelids (because SOMEONE'S boyfriend got her Naked 3, I mean really, how thoughtful, and how did he know, you would think she showed him a picture and specifically explained to his glazed-over face why these particular shades were so desirable to her and hinted aggressively or something, my gosh) before I start thinking about what I should make for breakfast (I've been defaulting to oatmeal, so you can also find me in the oatmeal aisle at the grocery store, murderer.)
Last week, we ate seared tuna on a bed of greens with veggies and avocado and a homemade wasabi dipping sauce on the side - in bed, like adults. This is a metaphor for what my whole entire life is like.
That dinner was actually, like… three weeks ago. This is an example of how distracted I am from and by everything.
