Friday, March 02, 2007

March 2nd. Version Nadine.0


Alarm goes off. The DJ is announcing school closures. “If you don’t have to go outside, don’t,” is what I hear. I want to call in sick/slushed in. To make the best case, I figure I’ll get ready for work and have the weather stop me. Yesterday, I had to walk home in half a foot of snow, with the wind knifing me in the face.


Showered, dressed, makeuped (word of the day). I’m eating breakfast. The TV weather guy says it’s gross out. says it’s gross out. My window says it’s gross out.


I’m on the bus, heading to work. I left a rent cheque and a small list of bathroom-repair issues for my landlord in the drawer in the table in the entryway. And I left my laundry in a heap on the floor so I can do it the minute I get home.


At work. No delays, no real weather issues at all for transit. My pants are soaked from the flooding at the intersections. While I don’t want to be at work, I know I’d feel guilty sitting at home and leaving the massive workload to the few who chose to come.


Mom calls. She thinks I’m at home. I’m not. The sun is shining and the streets are drying up. It’s nice to talk to someone who’s not bitter/tired/stupid.


Wondering why anyone would want to watch TV on their cell phone.


So hungry. I go next door and order herb chicken on Caesar salad. I’m too lazy to actually walk to Queen St. where the selection/quality/prices are better.


I’m providing feedback for new subtitlers. It’s painful. I want to smash my face against a brick wall. I talk to one of my supervisors. There will be an intervention next week (read: shape up or you’re gone. And no, it’s not MY job that’s at risk).


Smarties and Diet Coke. My drug combo. I need rehab.


I’m out of there.


Grocery shopping. My favorite kind of shopping. I buy nothing with sugar or flour or caffeine; I’m trying to detox from my crappy week. I limit myself to 5 tomatoes.


I’m home. There’s a note under my door from my landlord. Everything is fixed. Which means she saw my crappy laundry-strewn decorating style. I love my landlords. Day-of repairs deserves an award.


Doing laundry. I run into the boy. The one behind my wall. After more than a year and a half, I see him. And he’s very good-looking. Darn. I’m in sweats that are 6 years old (and from +20 pounds ago). I’m the queen of the first impression. No formal introduction, but I think I’ve figured out his name from sorting through the house mail.


Yoghurt poured over grapes and cut-up apple. And green tea. I feel almost human again. And I Swiffer. Mentally plan an omelet for tomorrow morning. Because I’m a planner.


Finally done laundry. There’s nothing on TV except Top Chef reruns. So I’m half-watching. Misery is on later. I read the book, so I may watch it. Or I may go to bed. But that means I have to put my sheets back on. I may be tired, but not tired enough to go to all that effort of going to bed….


Beth said...

this is a great slice-of-Nadine's-life. why did you limit yourself to 5 tomatoes?

i wasn't satisfied with the brief meeting with the guy-behind-the-wall. did you talk to him or just shuffle around the laundry room?

nadine said...

I have the tendancy to go a little nuts in the produce apartment. And then I'm stuck trying to lug it all home. So I try to remind myself that the grocery store will not run out of tomatoes (I eat one or two a day sometimes). I can always go back.

And I met him at the back door. He opened it, said hi, and went directly into his apartment as I headed for the laundry room. He's probably the love of my life and won't know it for a decade or so....