Waterways
So after the poor sleep on Wednesday night, I decided to skip the gym and walk to work (a brisk 1 hour walk, up to and over the Brooklyn Bridge, and across Manhattan on the other side.) Get some air, some exercise, clear my head.
But in my head I popped my iPod earbuds and, having exhausted the past weekend's assortment of NPR podcasts, spun the wheel until I landed on an old "Selected Shorts" I hadn't yet listened to. (I love listening to the radio show sitting in my apartment at my computer on a Sunday afternoon; when the podcasts first came out, I was thrilled, thinking they would be heaven, but now find I usually get too distracted while walking to listen to a short story without having to stop and rewind repeatedly. And so they pile up in my iPod.)
It was a good story, one that sounded so familiar I am sure that I have heard or read it before. But not so familiar that I didn't want to keep listening. My attention was firmly caught somewhere at the very start of the bridge and I rewound for the last time, listening intently as I continued my trek to Manhattan. By the time I crossed the West Side Highway and was on my last leg before the office building, trudging through a scaffolding encased path with my fellow commuters, the emotional weight of the story landed square on me and I began to cry. Wet tears, hollow chest. I realized how exhausted I was, how much I wished I could just turn around and go home.
But I continued walking as the story finished, attempted to discreetly compose myself, walked into the building, snagged an elevator that was near empty (at least empty of anyone who knows me), and got off on my floor. Just as I waved my ID card at the magnetic reader to open the lobby doors, who walks out but the head of my department. I hadn't seen him in many days and so it took all of my energy to quickly smile and be upbeat and professional before he continued on and I could slink into the ladies' room.
The day didn't get much better after that.
And now it's Friday and I am off to grab a train to another city to host another client event that will result in a really late train home tonight.
Tomorrow I will do nothing but sleep and laundry.
But in my head I popped my iPod earbuds and, having exhausted the past weekend's assortment of NPR podcasts, spun the wheel until I landed on an old "Selected Shorts" I hadn't yet listened to. (I love listening to the radio show sitting in my apartment at my computer on a Sunday afternoon; when the podcasts first came out, I was thrilled, thinking they would be heaven, but now find I usually get too distracted while walking to listen to a short story without having to stop and rewind repeatedly. And so they pile up in my iPod.)
It was a good story, one that sounded so familiar I am sure that I have heard or read it before. But not so familiar that I didn't want to keep listening. My attention was firmly caught somewhere at the very start of the bridge and I rewound for the last time, listening intently as I continued my trek to Manhattan. By the time I crossed the West Side Highway and was on my last leg before the office building, trudging through a scaffolding encased path with my fellow commuters, the emotional weight of the story landed square on me and I began to cry. Wet tears, hollow chest. I realized how exhausted I was, how much I wished I could just turn around and go home.
But I continued walking as the story finished, attempted to discreetly compose myself, walked into the building, snagged an elevator that was near empty (at least empty of anyone who knows me), and got off on my floor. Just as I waved my ID card at the magnetic reader to open the lobby doors, who walks out but the head of my department. I hadn't seen him in many days and so it took all of my energy to quickly smile and be upbeat and professional before he continued on and I could slink into the ladies' room.
The day didn't get much better after that.
And now it's Friday and I am off to grab a train to another city to host another client event that will result in a really late train home tonight.
Tomorrow I will do nothing but sleep and laundry.
posted by medusa at 5:46 AM
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