I start getting dressed at 7:15. I woke up at 5 but I had no drive to get out of bed until I make myself at 6:30. I am out of Cafe Bustelo so I buy a large cup of coffee from the bodega next door. I should have gotten a small. My late rising cancels out the gym and working on my script. So after I pack my bag for figure drawing later and take a few minutes to masturbate I start getting dressed. The Meek Shall Inherit from the Broadway cast recording of Little Shop of Horrors comes up first on shuffle. It will stay in my head for the remainder of the day. I take my vitamins and shower, all of the while thinking about my financial troubles.
It's an hour later, I'm exiting the 42nd Street subway station. I'm very conscious of my feet, because I am wearing the most expensive shoes I own. A pair of grey suede bluchers from Paul Smith. They cost the equivalent of half of a month of my rent. I purchased them years ago when I worked at an economics consulting firm. I rarely wear them now, and as a result they are one of two pairs of shoes I own that are still in almost perfect condition. I only picked them because I thought I should wear something good for this evening. "Did you schedule that meeting for Tuesday?" is just the latest of questions I have asked myself this morning, soon to be replaced by "Is the intern you interviewed yesterday going to flake out?"
At work, I finish a piece of yogurt loaf and move all of my handwritten to-dos to a digital format on my laptop. Despite the fact that it's 2 pages of notes and I have another typed page of ongoing tasks, I still feel like I'm forgetting something. Time passes and I'm suddenly rushing around trying to find a conference room so the group director can take a new business call. I often wonder just how these things can be planned without any warning whatsoever. Of course, I also should have checked that everyone's meetings have rooms attached when I reviewed the calendars this morning. Not that it would've made much of a difference since all the rooms were booked. During this process I am stopped twice by just as many people on just as many occasions to follow up on my boss's availability while he's in Los Angeles. I am not paying attention.
It's waffle day. Banana waffles with a beef curry and maple syrup. Task wise, I've hit the point already where I'm just treading water. Doing just enough to not let everything slip but not actually get ahead. I had made plans the day before to leave work early to attend a tour of a Latin American in Construction: Architecture 1955-1980 at the Museum of Modern Art. It lasts an hour an a half and then I pop into Yoko Ono: One Woman Show, 1960-1971. I walk through at a brisk pace, stop to watch a video of houseflies crawling around her vagina and then I leave.
On the way to figure drawing I stop at McDonalds and eat a Steakhouse third pounder while I walk and then two donuts from Tim Horton. Why did i eat two donuts? While checking my email I am reminded that I forgot to schedule a call between my boss and one of the creative directors. I also did not update the out of office calendar. I try not to let this ruin my night.
The model is Latin and gay and I can't tell if he's just sort of weird or if there is a language barrier. His interactions with the class supervisor are a bit of a head scratcher. Between posing he stares at me and smiles, I can feel him trying to catch my gaze and he's not picking up on my lack of reaction as a indicator that I do not want to respond. Between him, the warm temperature in the room and the fact that I can't help but feel like I could be spending my time more productively, I leave after an hour and a half.
The entire time at figure drawing I kept thinking "they're coming to get you." Being broke is literally going to make me a paranoid schizophrenic. I have this ominous feeling that someone is coming to take away my material possessions. I get home, take a short 20 minute nap and play Words with Friends until 12:30 at night. So much for productivity.