Thursday, January 31, 2008
DEVASTATION RAINS HARD - DAY 35
Anyone who has spent any amount of time with me in the last 67 days, whether it be morning, noon or night, whether you just met me or you spend every day with me....there is a 99.9% that you have seen me in this hoodie.
It is my beloved, $250 overpriced hoodie and I have worn it every day, all day and some nights for 67 days. I know it's retarded and some might call it a bit on the obsessive side but it is the last thing I bought before I quit my job and left New York for Paris. I have never splurged on clothes EVER (I get excitement hives from the clearance rack at ROSS Dress For Less) much less spent $250 for a lousy sweatshirt but something about this HOODIE, I HAD to have it. The sleeves are extra long and I can hide my hands in them like mittens. Or not. Or roll them up a bit. Or make a half sleeve. Or zip it up to the neck. Or halfway down, or sometimes 3/4 of the way down. And when the world gets to be too much for me to handle, I can put up the giant hood and go to my special place where no one can see me or touch me, especially French people.
Met some friends last night at a bar and then went to dinner with FB (French Boy) and a new friend of ours. As we packed up our things to leave the restaurant, I reached to my side for my hoodie but felt nothing but the cold air. Heart starts racing. No. No. No.
Looking around frantically..NO NO NO...this is not happening....looking under the seat, on the floor, behind the next table, the ceiling....bile starts to build in my throat, my sight goes fuzzy, my palms are sweating....NO PLEASE GOD NO NO PLEEEEEASE PLEEASE...PLEEASE MAKE THIS GO AWAY.....and then BAM!!!!!! It hits me in the face like a sack of bricks dipped in fireballs smashing against my skull.
I LEFT MY HOODIE AT THE BAR.
Hyperventilating but trying to stay cool in front of my new friend, we rush out the door and down the street to the bar. I run to the corner where everyone was seated but it is 1AM now, and the table is empty except for a sleeping dog underneath it. I eye the dog suspiciously, could he have eaten it? FB asks the bartender for me if anyone turned in a sweatshirt. My breath stops, my eyes plead to the bartender with an intensity that reads "yes, you actually might be insane"....time stops for a moment before he breaths the dreaded word:
Out on the sidewalk, head spinning, my fake Zen flies out the window as the tears come streaming in on cue as I quietly cry, ".....my......hoooooodie.....cry cry cry....I....lost...my hooooodie.....whimper whimper...." (For once in my life, I would LOVE to know a person for more than, let's say, two WEEKS without having them witness me openly weeping. Just once. But yet again, it ain't happening for me this time). We walk our friend to catch a cab, she sympathetically wishes me luck and asks that I let her know if it is found. I must look like a puppy who lost it's bone.
And so we begin the slow walk home a.k.a. The Trail Of Tears. By the time we get to our apartment, I am in an shameless open sob and doing absolutely nothing to hide it. I'm in Paris after all, expressed deep depression is an art form here. OH PARIS HOW I MOOOOURN!! But even I am surprised at the level of devastation I feel at the loss of my beloved hoodie. It's been my wearable security blanket for two months and I feel both lost and now cold without it. No more mitten sleeves, no more half sleeves, no more special place hood. Then my mind turns to the natural conclusion...RAGE...someone has STOLEN IT. OF COURSE! It doesn't matter that it has started falling apart or that I left it at a table with friends who may have brought it home for safekeeping. My mind never developed past the 1st grade mentality that I never lose something, IT WAS RUTHLESSLY TAKEN FROM ME.
FB tries to calm me down and offers "baby, someone probably took it from the bar and will email around tomorrow and if not, I'll buy you a new one, don't worry" which provides me the opportunity to yell that I had apparently been waiting for..."(hyperventilated breath)SOMEONE STOLE IT!!!...and...sob sob....I don't WANT another ONE!....sob sob...that was my INDEPENDENT hoodie!...weep weep....I don't want a DEPENDENT hoodie.....sob sob...I....want....MYYY hoodie....my INDEPENDENT HOODIE..sob sob (rises to a shriek)..YOU JUST DON'T UNDERSTAAAAAAND!!!"
He smartly drops the subject, we get home and go to bed.
8AM THIS MORNING
Why bother going on? I take a swill from last night's wine. Who cares? Not me. No one ever died from wine at 8AM (at least no one I ever met) and besides, I don't care about anything anymore. I hate you, Paris. Cause you STOLE my sweatshirt.
I wander into the bedroom.
ME: "FYI, no one emailed me back to say if they found hoodie. SIGH"
FB: "You mean no one emailed between the hours of 2AM when you sent the email and 8AM now? Wow, how surprising."
ME: "Whatever, just forget it, I'm never gonna see hoodie again."
At 10AM I get a very nice email back from a girl at the bar who found hoodie and took it home for safekeeping (uh....just like FB said) and I suddenly feel like the 10 year old spastic jerk I consistently act like and feel embarrassed I made such a big deal out of a stupid sweatshirt...but I hugged it anyway when I picked it up today and promised it that I wouldn't ever leave it in a bar again EVER.
I totally heart you, hoodie.