Storytime

I have had the time to write today, I just haven't known what to say. My writing instructor hates the idea of having a blog- a platform to write- with no "real" purpose. My purpose is just to say something. Anything, to keep me writing.

Like I could write about the weirdness that is NYC. How on 91st Street today, between First and Second Avenues on my way to the train, I saw a butter-knife (the real silverware kind, not plastic) and a tiny baby doll (the cheap kind you'd find at the dollar store, or on the toy aisle at the grocery store) just laying on the sidewalk. Weird stuff. Or how during her lunch hour, a co-worker saw two otherwise normal looking women- walking topless down 42nd Street. "What was their agenda," I asked. I work in midtown. Less than a block from Grand Central. This isn't the East Village after 7:00pm where things get wild. It's what you'd expect to see there. "Breast Cancer Awareness Month something-or-other," my co-worker explained.

I could tell you about how I'm already sick and tired of bundling up in the mornings, because after all, it is in the 40's. I hate it because I'm sweating by the time I've hiked to the train. It's not that far, really. It's just that beneath synthetic tights and wraps & plastic raincoats, my skin can not breath. Seriously. If I don't wear the layers I'll regret it after sitting at my desk for an hour. I'll definitely be swearing, "I'll dress for this weather tomorrow" as I wait after dark for some crosstown bus. I never sweat in the summer, only in the winter, beneath all these blasted layers. (It's times like this I know why my mom always made us wear cotton underwear. She'd never let us get the pretty lacy/ polyester/ rayon/ silky whatever they are for little girls.)

I could write about how I went and bought a $7.00 salad (field greens, tuna- not tuna salad, just tuna- asparagus, sprouts, peas, roasted red peppers, mushrooms and balsamic vinegar) for lunch even though my office provides free pizza on Fridays. I did grab a Diet Coke before they were gone. And I did clean up the mess the boys left in the "war room" as it is called. Still haven't figured that one out yet. I work reception at a large construction firm. There are five girls on the floor I'm on- and the other receptionist and I are two of them. These boys are messy.

I could write about how my three year wedding anniversary is Monday, October 5th and we're celebrating by getting out of town this weekend. I was just told to pack a bag and meet Chris at Grand Central Station at 6:00. I like the not knowing. And he likes planning and surprising me. I'm spoiled- right? I could write about how spoiled I am. How lucky and blessed and terribly happy I am. But I don't have the right words to say it all. So, I'll just leave it at this.