Today’s commute featured an 11-minute wait (seems weird to call it a layover when it’s just a subway) in the cavernous dungeon of 59th Street/Lexington Avenue. There are far more depressing sstations but this one always seems to attract sketchy types who’ve been wandering the subways and streets all night and are now lookuing for either a place to rest or someone to bother. Today was pretty mild on that basis. The creep factor was merely the creaking, almost moaning sound of the escalators. They sound as if they will slowly consume the body of any who sets foot upon them. I have not seen the mangled, mutilated carcasses of these unfortunate passengers but I am certain they are stored someplace safe.
I’m feeling empty and insignificant this week. I got Monday off, so I’ll have 4 days to wallow in my selfish misery. I felt something leaving my body on Wednesday, something essential, it seemed. Some critical force I never knew was in me. I think it was Wednesday. Whatever day recently I sat in the shower for over 3 hours, wasting time and seed and regretting it not hours later but in the actual moments of waste. That might be what makes this current bout of malaise different, The regret is continuous, not in divisible, retrospective chunks of time.