Too Early...

It's been a while since I've written anything, but my life as of late has been a pointless tedious routine, less than interesting, except of course for my perpetual existential crisis. I got shaken out of my zombie state this morning, so I'll break my streak of not writing in the blog. (My streak of not writing anything well in the blog will probably remain intact, in case you were worried.) I have to wake up at 6:30 in the morning to get to the train by 8:07 in the morning, to get into work a little after 9:30. Three miserable hours — not to mention the eight or so hours following. I have nothing but sympathy for the people who make the commute every day.*

This morning, I'm at the train station and Alex is there and Justin shows up, duly cranky, like he's been woken up three hours too early, and somehow he's still more freaking personable than I am, so it's like now I know how Batman villains must feel. Not that I didn't know before — perpetual existential crisis, right? Alex is chipper, which is pretty much his personality, but he's still too buoyant for before-eight in the morning, and I point this out to him. He asks me if I've met Lenore — of course I haven't — but Lenore is his friend he met waiting for the train and Justin tells me "she's just a ball of energy."

Naturally, who should show up but Lenore. She's thrilled to death to see Justin and Alex again, and she's thrilled to death to show them a picture of her and her boyfriend, and she doesn't know who I am but she misappropriates her excitement and she's thrilled to death to shake my hand. She's practically jumping up and down, telling us about her favorite teachers and her bagel and how "Express for Men" was better when it was just "Express" and her plans for Restaurant Week and how she's gonna take the midnight make-out train home.... Lenore seems like a nice enough person, but holy shit, existential crisis here! Don't need you to be quite so vivacious before I've had my coffee and discovered the meaning of life.

I sense I've just met somebody else who'll eventually get sent to slave away in my imaginary plutonium mines, although not before she gives up her formula to whatever cocktail of Red Bull and crack she obviously has for breakfast every morning. Where have all the cerebral, brooding people gone? Those of us thinking Anne and I used to go to Restaurant Week, Anne and I used to take the make-out train home... Maybe we can trade: a little bit of my existential crisis for a little bit of her hyperactive celerity, but I don't think God allows that.

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*Except for Justin Ross, because he was my high school arch-nemesis.