lonely rainy sundays

How I spend my mornings on lonely rainy Sundays.

I like being alone, but sometimes I feel lonely. When the no-brainer DVDs and the novelty of shopping is gone, there's just me and my brain, which I think is on general strike. BusinessWorld looks German these days. Nothing makes sense. Reading anything more profound than Freakonomics just depresses me. Watching anything that requires more thinking than Keeping Up With the Kardashians gives me a headache.

It must be my deviated septum. No one else notices, but I know it's there. Your left nostril is smaller than your right, said the doctor. Everything about me is lopsided - my politics, my nostrils, my calculus.

* * * *

She was online the other day.

I told her I was bored. The romance of closing a new deal, the thrill of of acquiring properties, the excitement of meeting new people - all gone. We're not 21 anymore.

I expected her to say something uplifting. Instead, she agreed. Six years ago, she would have typed back something more optimistic. Now - three years before we hit 30 - we have no time for cheerfulness. We call bullshit "bullshit." We can afford to do so.

* * * *

Of course, I don't really dwell. Little distractions here and there keep my head above water. There's the new Ferragamo patent clutch, eating good food with MSP, planning the Vietnam-Singapore vacation.

Bits of happiness, all with price tags.

Now I understand why some people just take Prozac. It's cheaper in the long run.

This, too, will pass.

I'm just being my usual impatient self.