Today, I watched time creep in nine perfect circles, and then I left my desk for home.
Some Friday nights, I like to stay at home. Today was a busy day. Lots of work. Deleting words, rearranging sentences. Throwing a comma here and there for clarity. And flirting unremittingly — through email.
I don’t know him. He works with us remotely. His company helps us with tech stuff. But as we teased each other without mercy, something awakened in me.
“It’s getting close to year for me, too,” I replied to Maddy over IM at around noon. She is setting up her roommate with a boy. “I haven’t been on a date since January.”
Behind the computer screen, it was a nice thing to talk about my lost glove and ninjas and snow, the difference between techies and copy editors. His sentences made me laugh every time I clicked into my inbox in search of a reply. “I need a man with humor,” I thought to myself at 4. Then I caught myself thinking. So I put on some quiet music, looked down at my papers, and continued to work.
I was so tired by 5 that I planned to plop down on my bed and sleep for two days when I got home. Instead, I turned on the TV when I got home, then went to the kitchen. I boiled hot dogs, chopped up red onions and sweet grape tomatoes, and covered my hot dogs in cheese, relish, and mustard. My favorite guilty pleasure.
When I was done eating, I brought my Ibanez to the living room, and sat on the couch to watch a movie, strumming the guitar during commercials. I thought again, continued playing well after commercials, and then I turned off the TV, walked into my bedroom, and closed the door.
I pulled my window upward, and the chilly New York breeze emitted itself into the tiny room. I sat on my bed and played, feeling the chill like a shawl around my shoulders. I broke and strung together melodies for two and a half hours (picked a few chords from Moonlight Sonata, too).
How the sweet sound of my classical guitar explodes with emotion and complements the breeze.