I don’t want you to think that I’m a little overtired, but I really thought I might throw up on the subway this morning. Then again, what does that prove? Nothing, except that the subway can induce vomiting.
I have many, many stories to tell you about my moving adventures this weekend, but that will have to wait until I finish a few things around the ol’ office, so in the meantime, I leave you with the following conversation, which my friend Adrian had with himself, mostly, on Sunday morning, when my sister and I were trying to get him up and out of my apartment so that we could finish setting things up. (BTW, four people — Meg, Adrian, my pal Isaac and me — sleeping in a Manhattan studio resembles a row of sardines in a can more than you might think.)
Adrian: (Rubbing his eyes.) I was supposed to work today. Ah, fuck it.
Me: What? You have to work?
Adrian: Just a little work. I mean, I don’t have a job or anything.
There you go, ladies and gentleman! There it is: An attitude of nonchalance that I will never ever have, even if I win the lottery and never “have” to work again.