The bastard never showed up today. I waited in Penn Station like an asshole for an hour, wondering if every guy who came by was him. He called me 2 hours after we were supposed to meet to tell me he was in a car accident this morning and couldn't make it. I was already underground and missed his call, so all of his story was said on my answering machine. I promptly called him back to tell him that I'd be around if he wanted to try to reschedule, but if not, he could have a nice weekend (and like, I thought to myself.) He hasn't called back yet. If he wants to meet me, he'll call. If he was lying and just trying to get out of the date with a lame story, he won't call. The ball is in his court, and I'm not going to steal it from him anytime soon.
I then tried to get into Brooklyn to spend the day with a friend. Apparently, the train I needed wasn't actually running today, which I didn't realize until I'd stood there for 30 minutes. So I ran around the subway station, trying to find someone who could give me decent directions, and when I couldn't, I waited in one more spot for the train that I thought could maybe get me there. And then I saw 3 rats; 3 dirty, disgusting, huge rats running around ON THE PLATFORM close to where I was standing.
I freaked out. Total breakdown. In the middle of Penn Station.
I couldn't be there anymore. I had to get out, to somehow get home and as quickly as possible. Somewhere along the way I found Garretts Popcorn which originated in Chicago and always reminds me of the Midwest. So I got a huge bag. Needless to say, it's over halfway eaten already. When I finally got to the platform to get on my train to get home, I had yet another breakdown because my train never seemed to come. It was completely pathetic and made me realize that I really, truly HATE this city and don't want to live here even one more day.
I guess it's the price I have to pay for working towards my dreams.
I keep telling myself I'm lucky to be here. That I'd rather be miserable here than wonderful and not in cantorial school. That there are hundreds of rejects of HUC who'd happily take my place. That there are people who should be here who can't be here for any number of reasons. That I am working to fulfill my dreams.
It ain't working.
I hate this city. I couldn't hate it more if I tried.
Is it too late to pack up and go home?
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My ever-unfolding journey from heavy to healthy.
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1 comment:
Question: If you took the "you," the "I, out of what you've written, is it possible to see the absurdist humor of it all?
Because when I read about your all-time shitty day, all I could think about was, "Thank God no piece of a crumbling NYC building broke off from the 30th floor and crushed her!"
And sometimes people really do get in car accidents. Although, I confess I once faked a hamstring injury to get out a date with a woman my grandma set me up with. It's a long story.
Thinking of you, loving you, and admiring your courage.
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