Mea Culpa

I know. I don't write enough. I just think that this blog should be the adventures, not the boring crap that happens every day. Because honestly, my life is pretty standard. Eat, sleep, work. Once in a while I don't poo for a couple of days and then things get really exciting. The anticipation. Haha, okay, I jest. Perhaps things are a bit more stimulating than that.

Let's see, what to write about. Ah! I had an interesting experience today on the metro coming home from work. So, the car I've boarded is nearly empty... perhaps there are ten or fifteen people scattered throughout. I'm on the express, and we've just left 59th street, the next stop being 125th. All's quiet on the western front until somewhere just before the hundreds, crazy subway guy materializes. He's a thirty-something black man, shaved head, chunky over muscular build. One second it's completely quiet, and the next, he's yelling rather loudly (to himself). Though I couldn't entirely make sense of what he was saying, I made out bits and pieces: "I'll slap that bitch in the face..." and "All the food's gone, we're in the recession..." He continued his ranting until 145th street, at which point he stopped, asked someone for a quarter, and got off the train. (I found the quarter component of the outburst pretty amusing.)

Anyway, during his [rather obscene] self-directed soliloquy, I found myself watching him intently. I mean, who wouldn't, right? But then I had a moment of self-awareness. A clarity set in. Without the thought actually materializing, I found myself hazily wondering why I was so interested. And I realized that I was hoping he'd go completely haywire. Buck wild, off his rocker, stark raving mad. I watched eagerly, waiting for him to, oh, I don't know, pull a knife and threaten someone, or begin thrashing about uncontrollably. To my dismay, he didn't. But the thought had lingered long enough for me to comprehend the gravity of it.

So, why? Why did I want him to have an outburst? I thought about it, and came to the conclusion that I wanted to live vicariously through him. I'm hanging by a thread, we're all just hanging by a thread. Who's not about to lose it? Let me be honest: there are certainly times that I wish I could completely break down, break apart, ignore the tacit societal code of conduct and freak the fuck out. I want to get on the subway and stand way too close to the businessman in his suit who's sitting down, and say, 'get the fuck up, I'm a waitress and I've been on my goddamn feet the last twelve hours.' I want to punch the Times Square tourists in the back of the head when they stop in the middle of the bloody sidewalk to gape at the big sparkly signs. I want to ask this kid I work with why, for our sake, can't he just put on deodorant. I want to ignore my bills, and just once, just one time, spend my money frivolously on myself without worrying about tomorrow. All of us, we each deal with a multitude of these trivial irritants every day... it's enough to make anyone go insane. Each irritant alone has its own miniscule impact, and its effect is perhaps imperceptible... but there are only so many we can absorb before the sanity dam bursts.

I don't know. Maybe I'm projecting. Maybe I'm the only one who's about to snap, and maybe everyone else is completely tranquil, calm, and collected. I'm just wondering if the glassy surface doesn't camouflage the turbulence beneath, and what happens when that illusion is punctured.

Siempre Buscando,

Sarah