I’m in the midst of an all consuming work week. With my unconventional work life, this isn’t entirely uncommon. “When it rains, it pours” goes the cliché. I’ll have a week where I struggle to log 20 hours, then book a gig for that weekend where I’ll log 25 hours in two days. Oh sure, some day soon I’ll be too old for this shit, but right now it suits me.
More or less suits me, I should say. Currently I am working a promotion at JFK airport. Every day I get on the E train, an outsider without a suitcase and tow, and endure the painfully long commute. I’m back to three hours of commuting a day, just like my first year in NYC. Today is my last day, I’m getting paid quite well, I really should have nothing to complain about…. But I live in New York, and New Yorkers love to complain about things. So since you asked (let’s pretend), there are actually two things:
1. I’ve had no time to blog. Bet you’ve noticed! I get home near 10PM and the creative part of my braIn refuses to cooperate. “Fuck you!” my brain whines like a child in need of a nap, “You put me in an indoor space for 8 hours, void of color, and forced me to recite ‘talking points’ you memorized from a training manual. That’s insulting, and all you’re gonna get out of me today. You can forget me stringing together witty sentences of printed word. No, not in tbe cards. But watching House of Cards? That I can manage.”
For the past 8 days, apart from getting my ass to Jamaica (that’s the Area of Queens JFK is in, the name cruelly taunts you to hop on a plane for a tropical destination), I’ve been woefully unproductive.
2. I’m turning blue.
I don’t mean metiphorically, like seasonal depression- “the winter blues”. What I speak of was never the warbles of chanteuses of the 1940s. No, this is more like the one hit wonder of 1999.
I am literally blue (dabadeedabadi, the song has been stuck in my head all week). See, for promotions, I am usually provided with clothes to wear. It is all about image and brand representation, companies want their ambassadors to look just so. I’ve worn hundreds of branded t-shirts, pajamas in Times Square, a full ensemble boots-jeans-jacket-thermal for the launch of an outdoors company’s city line, and the infamous size 2 Banana Republic LBD.
For the event in JFK we were outfitted in black pants and chambray button-ups. “Cute,” I thought, “Chambray is trendy right now, I’ll totally wear this shirt when I’m not working.”
Yeah, not so much. When I took my shirt off the first day after work, I freaked out. My skin was tinged blue. I looked sickly, like I was about to asfixiate or maybe mutate into Mystique.
Turns out chambray shirts (at least cheap ones from Old Navy) bleed blue ink. Even after you put them through the wash! Hopefully by next week I will have scrubbed all blue remnants from my pores and I’ll have time for better blogging.
This post was largely typed while on the subway and airtrain, thanks to the WordPress App. Excuse me(!!!???), you say? Yes, friends, readers, New Yorkers, country men, lend me your ears– I, Mary Lane, now own an iPhone! Expect better blogging and for constant updates, please follow me on Twitter! @NewYorkCliche