My Saturday

A faint wind blew sawdust along the concrete floors of the dilapidated warehouse like sand on a barren desert. What little light came in was sifted through jagged cracks in industrial paned glass high above and flutters from unseen birds echoed in the cavernous nothingness. The area was devoid of the machinery once housed there and, even though no evidence remained, the space itself suggested it was once the center of tremendous activity. Water dripped a slow drip in the distance and somewhere on the street outside a car horn honked with an impatience that contradicted the silence of the hushed walls.

You’ve just gotten a glimpse inside my brain on Saturday morning.

That day I woke up and literally just stared. People coming out of fucking comas have more brain activity than I had. I laid in bed and felt a cool breeze come in through the window and it carried with it chirps of birds and smells of Spring that signaled the morning was one to be savored. And still, I stared.

I wasn’t staring at anything in particular either, just my ceiling. For a little while I even thought I was paralyzed. Or that some evil scientist had come in during the night and performed a lobotomy on my frontal lobe. I wasn’t upset at him though. I wasn’t anything. I was just…staring.

Eventually I got hungry and sat rigidly upright as if someone were operating me with a remote control, possibly the same evil scientist. I shuffled to the kitchen and opened my fridge and, you guessed it, stared some more.

The weird thing about my kitchen is that I never have food yet I always think that I do. I open the fridge or a cabinet and expect food to come pouring out like a slot machine. Instead, here are the current contents of my refrigerator:

Two half-empty bottles of Diet Coke, still good but probably flat

One can of Coors Light, opened, probably skunked

Six pasta sauce jars, each filled to different levels (not sure if pasta sauce expires)

Two packages cream cheese, probably expired

Three packets of butter, most likely expired

One empty egg carton, would’ve been expired

One half gallon of fat-free milk, definitely expired and too scary to be touched

One Tupperware container filled with pasta (not sure if pasta expires either)

And the freezer:

Three empty ice cube trays

One bagel frozen to the wall

One container coffee, half full

Basically what I do next is pick up each item and examine it before putting it back into its original position. The milk is probably the worst item in there and definitely needs to get thrown out but I’m concerned that if I remove the cap or even shift the contents too much that the entire container will explode in a noxious plume of deadly bluish white liquid. So in the fridge it sits. It will be there forever.

Fridge closed, I decide that I need to venture outside to get food. Balls. Going outside on the weekends was such a pain in the ass and required an infinite amount of energy, not to mention the fact that I’d be observed by other humans. It was almost noon though and I knew that eating was required to live so I shuffled back to the room and stood in front of my closet. And stared.

It’s a strange reality to be faced with when you realize that you don’t have any pants to wear. I’m not kidding. I had no pants. I’d sent them all out to the laundry the morning before and, since I only have one pair of jeans which were included in that load, I was faced with two options: the khakis I wore to work on Friday that now had a ketchup stain on the crotch, or my suit. Shorts were out as it was too cold and even pajama pants were included in the laundry.

My vision shifted between the bed and the closet. The other option was to just go back to bed for the rest of the day and see if the problem would just work itself out. I stood there and stared at the closet for 23 minutes, going over the options in my head. Literally 23 minutes. Then I sat down and stared some more. When it was one o’clock I slowly got up and reached for my suit pants, slipping them on and putting on a sweatshirt. Sneakers completed the ensemble and I stood in front of the mirror, looking at what appeared to be a homeless stock broker

When I got to my front door I stared at it, still unsure about whether or not to go through it and fairly confused as to how the process worked. Finally I went through and made my way downstairs in a fog. A few minutes later I was in front of my mailbox and opened it to check its contents. Then I closed the mailbox, turned around, walked back upstairs and was back in my apartment.

What…the….fuck?!?!

Time elapsed since “waking”: 3.5 hours

Activities completed successfully: 0

I then walked back to my bedroom and laid down to think about my next move. When I woke up it was four o’clock.

So yeah…that was most of my Saturday. Oh, also…don’t ever mix bourbon and Nyquil.

Ever.

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Filed under douches, Duh, laundry, life in new york, madness, mail, Sean goes insane, Sean is an idiot, Sean's fridge, sick

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