Day Becomes Night or Vice Versa

I went fully nocturnal last night, which was simultaneously really liberating and one of the worst decisions I've made up here so far. It was somewhat necessary - I just couldn't take that sequence having beaten me one more night, so I pressed on - but going to bed at 7 AM really isn't conducive to a healthy, well-adjusted day. It wasn't that I had to be anywhere, but for some reason my body was just so confused that it didn't want to sleep, but it didn't want to function well either. It was an odd day, to say the least. I got up around 11, laid in my bed and stared at a wall for a little while, and went out to Starbucks to spend some time reading, drinking coffee, and eating scones.

Production meetings kind of generally suck. It's about an hour and a half of a group of noncommittal people indecisively discussing things that mean absolutely nothing to me, mixed with ten minutes of them telling Simon that they need the video sooner than they'd thought. Between the long-suffering look of martyrdom on Simon's face and the occasional dyed-pink poodle walking by (no, seriously), my tired-ADD self was totally off in my own little world. I like to think I make Simon's life a little bit easier - not as much in the work load so much as the understanding looks across the table that say "don't you just want to smack these damn artistic types? I know I do." All the passive-agressive demure whispering annoys me intensely, especially when coupled with the fact that our production has no clear leader. I understand being artistic and wanting things done a certain way, but I'm first and foremost a realist when faced with the workloads of others, and can accept that some people's specialties may make them more qualified to judge.

I hung out with Greg and Devon again tonight, which was also lovely - they're just excellent guys, both of them. Devon's goal for the city today was twofold: get his picture taken near Wall Street, and go to Chinatown. We only accomplished one of those two, but when we started getting to the heart of Chinatown (just past Little Italy, which was as glorious as I'd imagined and smelled twice as good), Devon's face lit up. "I love haggling!" he said, and I kid you not, started skipping from stall to stall trying to get the best price on some brand-name watch that only he really valued correctly. We went through four different stalls before he got the last guy down to a reasonable price. "The other guy said he'd give it to me for 45," Devon said, eyeing the guy with an appraising look. "Forget everything he said," the vendor said, "how much will you pay?" "30," Devon said, which had been his plan all along since he shoved all 200 dollars in cash into Greg's pocket and had taken only 30. "40." "37," Devon responds, obviously now just enjoying the hunt rather than caring about the money. "What difference does three dollars make?" the guy asks, probably getting exasperated by the grinning white boy with the John Mayer douche-hawk who clearly has the money and just won't give it up. And Devon's honest-to-God response: "Three dollars gets me a cup of ice cream!"

I got home with far less frustration tonight, although this time around felt like I may have been more justified in my paranoia. I've always erred on the side of caution (paranoia) in situations like these - drive around a few extra blocks if I think there's any chance someone might be following me, walk a little slower to let someone pass me if I'm not comfortable with the idea of them knowing where I live. Maybe I've watched way too many spy movies in my time, but I'm always far too careful when I'm alone, for better or worse. Tonight I literally sprinted up two sets of stairs and across a street to be sure that a suspicious guy wouldn't follow me. On the one hand, I think that I'm way too far away from aid not to trust those stupid instincts, but on the other hand, I'm fairly certain this is just me flying my crazy flag.

As long as I'm letting the crazy out, here's something I've realized about myself lately: the very tiny processes and methods in my life are the ones that keep me most sane and happy. The little ways that I organize my life are the ones which give me some kind of strange, comforting stability. For example, I keep my Metrocard in the left front pocket of my jeans, for these reasons: the right side has my keys, and keys and Metrocards shouldn't go in the same pocket. The back right pocket has my phone in it, and I've lost cash by pulling out the phone and not realizing what's next to it is sliding out too. And the left back pocket . . . just doesn't get used. I have trouble even reaching into that pocket. That card is in that pocket at all times, ready to whip out at a moment's notice, but not in danger of being lost. Likewise, during cold weather, I run my headphone cord between my jacket and my coat, so I can take off the coat for class but not yet have to relinquish my music (and thereby keep people from talking to me for a few minutes longer - also the idea). These odd little problem-solvers really are important to me, which I suppose just feeds into my weirdness. Oh well.