Forgetfulness
I was feeling wishful.
I packed a bag with my workout clothes. It seemed about time for my bi-weekly trip to the gym for TV watching on the elliptical machine.
It was flurrying outside, which they said would later turn to rain, so I packed an umbrella. I packed my lunch (leftover Thai food from the night before). And a snack. And some cosmetics (in case I needed to get gussied up). And my knitting project. And a sweater. And a bottled water.
Then I decided that the bag was too big and heavy. Did I really think I was going to exercise? I can barely keep my eyes open by 6 pm. I decided that physical health would have to take a back seat to my desire to eat snacks and go to bed early. So I moved everything except for the gym clothes into a smaller tote. Then I put on my coat, grabbed the bag, and left.
On the train, I reached in the bag for my knitting project and pulled out — a running shoe.
No lunch. No umbrella. No water bottle. No sweater. Shame washed over me. I felt stupid and hungry and started to cry.
I am doing this kind of thing all the time now. It's like there's a hole in my head. I'm lucky that I remember to put on my underwear under my clothes. Or at all.
I hate that I feel so unlike my normal self. And I hate that once I get my normal self back, my life will be anything but normal again. Not that my normal self was such great shakes. But at least I didn't nod off in the middle of the day and drool into my keyboard.
My friend Brian wrote this for Gawker: Actually, Yes, I Do Mind Taking Off My Shoes. I thought it was cute.
I also thought this was funny: A man with a sweater composed of twisted up newspapers. I think he's wearing a newspaper turban as well.
I saw Mr. Garbage Sweater on the train a while ago and surreptitiously snapped a picture with my crappy camera phone. I've been meaning to post it for some time. I love when people reclaim refuse and make it into stylish ensembles.