Perhaps it's as if I've come full circle? It's almost like I'm starting something new. But really, it more feels that for the past two months or so I've been living in a parallel universe, reality's conjoined twin, but that the sister systems have somehow again become one. The twin, with all its creativity and life, seems only to have been an imaginary friend.
Tomorrow morning I will wake up at 7:30. I will groggily, grumpily make my morning coffee and porridge, and while they are respectively brewing and bubbling I will clothe myself in items that have hung, unworn and patiently waiting, since the end of March. I will imbibe the necessary brew, consume the brown rice and cinnamon that of late has been my fundament. And when all is set, out into the world I will go - and not a minute past 8:30 a.m., lest I be late.
I will walk north, up 30th street to Astoria Boulevard, and then weaving whichever way becomes most convenient to circumvent the BQE. In one hand I will carry a purse, and object which I apparently now use with great regularity despite the constant admonishments of such throughout my teens and twenties. In the other hand I will doubtlessly carry a book, putting myself at grave risk of tripping, as usual. And over one arm or the other I will carry a bag; it will contain shoes to wear within the office (for I'll be walking in my Tevas), at least one notebook, hopefully a scrap of food, and whatever other accoutrements my life may require past 2 p.m., at such time that I am to be released from my newly chosen prison.
I took the walk today so as to time it; twenty minutes at my normal fast paced clip, even in the heat and sun. So in the morning cool thirty minutes should be an adequate cushion. The office, alas, is hardly accessible by train; such mode of transport would actually take longer than simply walking, and would still require a good ten minutes of pedestrian movement. Thus my plan.
Just out front of the office is a stop for the Q101. The bus indeed is the least efficient mode of transportation possible, and yet it still does take a person from a place to a place, eventually. And this particular bus will take me directly to my studio, in a travel time of again only twenty minutes once boarding has been achieved, which makes its proximity to the new office useful. One stop past the studio, too, is Manhattan. Useful indeed.
Over and over again, I picture my arrival at the office, the unfolding and unfurling of my first day there. How do I fill out my W-2? Do I get a break? Will they let me out on time? Will the office seem so dingy as it did when I went in to interview? Will I be let to bring a plant, a lamp, a picture frame? How late is "late"? Questions abound, and some cannot be asked.
All I need is for it not to be awful. It just has to be bla, so so, average. I must keep myself from making it a workaholic perfectionist spree, as I do with most new jobs. I have to stand my ground on hours and pay and duties and reasonable timelines and expectations. Ah yes, as usual, I embark with such grand notions.
I may be forced to take up smoking.