DATE: 6/22/2002 06:28:00 PM
Yarrgghhhh. Arrrggghhhh. Bleeeccchhhh.
I feel like a gigantic slimy octopus slithering along the ocean floor, engorged and lethargic from a feast of unsuspecting surfers. I'm moving slower today than the Stupid Bat in The Neverending Story. I hated that movie. But that was the only comparison my dead brain could cough up (in a bilious wad of yellow phlegm, of course) at the moment.
A routine ends, you see, and all my systems go haywire. Last Friday my full-time employ here at the Globe came to a close, setting me adrift into the Land of Temping and Piecemeal Part-time Employment. An early taste of post-graduation life, I surmise. At least now I know that once I am set totally adrift following the end of my post-secondary educational experience that to do what I've done with myself this week in the absence of routine is a terrible idea.
This week I've stayed up till all hours doing nothing worth mentioning at this point. I've slept during all phases of the sun and moon and I've rarely slept in the same place. I've smoked, I've drank, I've partied like a rock star. I've found myself--in no particular order--in Cambridge, in Lowell, in Somerset, in Seekonk, in Saugus, in Fall River, in Walpole, in Providence, in Boston, in Nashua, in Wakefield, in Burlington, in Stoneham, and, rarely, in Chelmsford, where I actually live. I haven't slept in my own bed since Tuesday, and I haven't really been home since Wednesday afternoon. What's that you say? It's now Saturday? Wow. When did that happen?
So here I am at work again. Coming back here has meant a return of normalcy that has, in the wake of this past week, felt not unlike a curse from a vengeful God. Like reaching an opposite shore and going, "Holy fuck, look at them whitecaps back there! How'd this little dinghy ever get us through those?" The answer of course, is that it didn't. All I can think about is my room at home, and more specifically, my bed. It's been clean, I think, for the longest period of time since I left for college, simply because I haven't been there to strew my detritus about. I bet it misses my detritus. At this point, I miss my own detritus. My hair is a greasy rat's nest that would probably break a mirror at this point. I've been wearing the same pants for three days. I am crashing in a ball of flame.
Not that it hasn't been fun, of course.