I haven’t left the house since yesterday afternoon and at that point I drove to Fornino for a calzone. The girl behind the counter greeted me by saying, “How is you don’t know our menu yet? I see you here all the time.” I wasn’t thinking straight when I ordered it, which is why I asked for a stromboli. And to be honest, I’m not even sure what a stromboli is let alone its difference.
I’m sick. I came down with what appears to be some sort of sore throat and my head is stuffed full of snot and goo. It’s as pleasant as I am charming.
I’m wondering how I got here and why I’m wondering about that at all. And I’m wondering how it’s December already and how I’ll be 33 soon. I’m wondering why I’m sick today and why I can’t do anything about it. I’m wondering why I’m doing so much wondering at all.
I can see lower Manhattan out my living room window. It looks like the top of the inside of a cave, or like the root of a wart if you were to bore it out from its head, flip it upside down, and inspect it under a microscope.
Someone once told me that warts don’t actually have roots, that they don’t go very deep at all. But I still imagine them being deeper than they are tall, like an iceberg.
Someone else once told me that Manhattan is as deep as it is tall and if both those things are true, the things that other people told me, my wart analogy sucks.
Millions of people are killing time right now, watching the minutes tic by as they check CNN, the New York Times, or their least favorite blog preparing themselves for their more irritating commutes home. Soon it will be really cold. Soon we’ll see our inevitable first snowfall in a city that knows no snow days.
I miss snow days.
Today, I’m sick. And it’s getting dark and I haven’t left the house since yesterday.