I Don’t Miss What I Don’t Have

It’s been a full week since The Invisible Man vanished and oddly I’m doing super without the 24/7 ridiculousness. Well maybe not so ‘odd’ since I’m sure anybody with a clearer head than I could have predicted as such

 The Invisible Man and I had adopted a communication style that was sometimes supportive and endearing but mostly it was obsessive and all consuming. My weekday mornings were tightly scheduled around our ‘check ins’ while my work days were filled with a constant struggle between doing ACTUAL work and engaging in some all-encompassing  text exchange. Evenings were never truly mine, I was ‘on call’ mostly with either my iPhone or my laptop at the ready so I could continue whatever silliness was begun earlier in the day within minutes of the The Invisible Man “dinging” my messenger with a “YO!”.

Last Monday I tucked myself into bed fully aware that Tuesday morning would come and go without a “ding’ or a “ring”. I told myself that it’s the new normal and that I would just have to ride out the silence as the minutes slowly ticked away, quietly dealing with the title wave of emotions that would surely flow. Well Tuesday morning came and went and shockingly it wasn’t until I was seated comfortably on the 7 train that I realized – HEY I made it through my morning and didn’t even NOTICE the lack of….. everything!  Not only didn’t I notice BUT I woke up 30 minutes later, got out of the house 10 minutes earlier and for the FIRST time in MONTHS I blew my hair out straight!  It’s like my TIME is all rushing back to me, it’s really rather wonderful and freeing.

To continue with the reclamation of my personal time I did my nails last night while watching a Netflix start to finish with NO interruptions or the worry that I would only get half a hand completed before “DING”. Sure our communication habits were a two way street and there was something about our constant virtual connection that filled a hole inside of me but it was oppressive and overbearing and many times I felt suffocated by the weight of being the entertainment monkey – Dance Monkey DANCE – trying to make up for whatever real world ills were thrust upon Mr. Invisible. Now I come home from the gym and all is quiet, all the time is my time, no muss – no fuss, and I’m feeling like I’ve rediscovered my old life again.

Excuse me Sir but your nose is in my hooch

I am a huge fan of mass transit, good thing since I have utilized it exclusively since selling my cranberry 4 door Saturn in 1996. It’s speedy, rather reliable, economical, and best of all I never need to shovel it out of a snow bank or scrape sheets of ice from its windshield. The down side of course is that I must share my travels with the public, and this is where the love affair with my chosen form of motorized mobility quickly turns sour, very sour.

There are of course the usual offenders, the stinky food consumers, the nail clippers, the nose diggers, the pole leaners, the “my balls are too big to close my legs” sitters, etc. However recently I have noticed a surge in an new form of rush-hour subway misconduct, the “I know there is not enough room for me to fit between these people however I am such a lazy a-hole that I will teeter my keester on the edge of the subway bench then bend forward so my head is directly in line with the strap hangers’ crotches.” Yep, three out of my past 5 days of commuting I’ve been smack up against a man (I have yet to see a woman do this – but I wouldn’t put it past them on the 7 train) who has his nose ¾ of an inch away from my nether regions. Doesn’t it suck enough that I have to stand jam packed like a sardine on the 7 train wrapped up like Nanook because of the subarctic temperatures but now in addition I have to host a stranger in my ‘lady area’? It’s a great core exercise though, with my feet firmly planted just far enough away from the overhead pole to be comfortable my pelvis pulled in tightly so as to not graze the bobble headed douche bag when the train banks ‘round the turn at Queens Plaza and my ass pulled in with my back arched so I don’t lean into my fellow commuter behind me, it takes all I have not to fall over during my 6 minute ride to Woodside.

But in hindsight I guess I shouldn’t complain, I mean the online dating thing has dried up (along with some other options) so with the joy that a new year brings to all of us I extend a grateful “THANKS” to the #7 train passengers who would rather sit bent in half with their top lip resting on my third coat button instead of standing for a 20 minute journey because without you I truly would have no ‘action’ at all.

Discovering your own backyard

Living in my 24 hour city becomes a bit overwhelming at times. The quantity of entertainment options are limitless yet it’s the vastness of the offerings that can stunt my motivation to actually participate. If I miss something no big deal there will be another new show, new exhibit, new whatever in 10 minutes. This past weekend however I made an internal pact that I would take a journey of discovery and visit a new local locale.

Friday night began with a few bottles of wine atop Swason’s Astoria abode. Yes I did call Astoria my home years back however I never sat on my roof and drank wine on a cool summer’s night – I lived in a basement. This act of semi-illegal behavior, though very lovely, was not conducted in order to satisfy my stated goal of a journey of discovery it was simply a nice way to kick off my weekend – and finally prove to Swason that I could drink like the Irish stock from whence I have sprung.

Day 2 of my quest – not so much discovery but I took a journey. LIRR out to Long Beach to put some quality time into my tan – mission accomplished!

Day 3 –Sunday morning, a bright yellow sun and sparkling blue sky beckoned to me as I began to weigh my options for the day’s J of D (that’s journey of discovery). I was torn between two unknown mistresses luring me out into the wiles of the sweeping city; Gantry Park in Long Island City or the grand opening of The High Line in Manhattan. After quickly completing my cerebral list of pros and cons Gantry Park won hands down – mostly because I assumed it would be less likely overrun with hot smelly crowds and avoiding malodorous masses is my main goal for any excursion.

Hopped onto my ol’ 7 train with my wearever chair strapped to my back filled with my survival gear (water, book, grapes, etc…) and 6 minutes later I was exiting at Vernon Boulevard in the middle of nowhere. Yes there really is a reason that for 12 years I have never seen anybody enter or exit the 7 train at the Vernon Boulevard station. Once above ground, using the sun as my guide, I navigated westward past the abandoned one story cinderblock warehouses to the high-rise luxury condos perched on the edge of the East River. The river, just steps away, lapped at the organically manicured man made shoreline bursting with wild pink roses and swaying sea grasses. I had made it – it was GANTRY PARK!

The park consists of piers, winding shady pathways, a riverside board walk equipped with lounging chairs, a rolly polly green space that beckons to be enjoyed by bare feet, a round seating area that is magically misted from below by fine sprays of water and a small row of bright orange hammocks. I thankfully scored the hammock with the best unobstructed view of both the Empire State Building and the U.N. (FYI delegates – your building needs a good power wash). True the bright orange strapping of the hammocks, though comfortable, was a bit reminiscent of those cargo nets one finds on the docks in Newark so I never quite relaxed into a deep rest for I was concerned that a barge with a large crane might take advantage of the situation and use me as ballast for a training drill.