Tuesday, February 12, 2013
in which nicki snaps herself out of it and realizes she is absolutely ridiculous and incredibly whiny; also, muppets.
Yesterday was one of Those Days.
You know Those Days. The 90-minute-commute days. The disabled-train-in-front-of-us days. The grate-your-knuckle-off-with-a-microplane days. The your key suddenly, randomly, and cruelly decides that it will refuse to open your front door the way it has six hundred times before, forcing you to trudge through 2 feet of snow all the way around the back of the house IN FLATS kind of day.
I stood sullenly in the kitchen, grating ginger so hard I shook the entire counter. I hated the snow. I hated the commute. I hated that I had to cook. I hated that it was already 8:00 and I hadn't finished dinner yet. I hated that I got up at 5:30 and would do so again tomorrow. I hated this week. I hated the impending move. I hated a lot of things. But mostly, I think, I hated that tomorrow would be my birthday, and I was spending it alone.
So childish, yes? A birthday is a day like any other day. Another year gone by. I'd celebrate later. Set my sights on a play in New York that's opening in March; figured we'd make a weekend out of it, eat our way through Manhattan. Derrick's on nights for the rest of the month, and we live in opposite schedules, passing like ships in the night: he's heading home just as I get to work; by the time I get home, his shift has just started. When it's done, there'll be plenty of time to celebrate. And again, it doesn't really matter. Just a day. Like any other.
After I grated my knuckle bloody I realized I was doing it all wrong. Like Walter says: Don't you remember? You guys are the Muppets! You do this to music! And it turns out Walter was right: a strong song on the radio was all I needed--though the strong drink in my hand didn't hurt, either. I pulled myself together. Snapped myself out of it. After all, I had a birthday bottle of champagne and a marbled ribeye in the fridge, didn't I? Who says I had to have someone else with me to celebrate?
So today, yes, today I'm going to stand on the train with strangers and spend my day in the office computer training, yes, but I'm also going to have a damn party. A me party, to reference the Muppets again (and let's face it, it wouldn't be a Nicki birthday without the Muppets). Because eating alone, drinking alone doesn't have to be sad. It can be joyous. It can be empowering. And it can be a little bit liberating. Especially if the thought of a frosted glass of bubbly is the thing pulling you through a cold, dripping, puddle-filled workday.
And doubly especially if you have plans for an champagne-filled after-work Muppet Show marathon. There will be pajamas. There will be fuzzy slippers. There will be many, many bad puns. And there ain't gonna be no one around to judge me for it.