Secondly the world fucking hates me. HATES ME. HAAAATTTTEEE
So I went out for exercise again, in the street, like a dog, which we all know I hate. And it was hot out, muggy hot, the kind of hot where your shirt soaks with sweat and sticks to your body and your underpants become sodden and start to sag and despite the fact that you're sweating like the mighty Mississippi you can't get cool. That kind of hot.
But I persevered, because I want to be thin and happy and all the rest of that bullshit nobody actually believes. I persevered because in life one must work hard for the rewards one feels one deserves. I persevered because I am a schmuck, what do you want me to say?
Anyway, I was sweating like crazy, passing children's birthday parties where they pointed and laughed at the fat man who looked like he wandered out of the rain, and my feet were on fire (could explain the sprinklers.) It was unpleasant in the extreme. As I reached the last mile or so only one thing sustained me. That I had a nice ice cold bottle of Fruit Punch Gatorade sitting in the fridge ready to pop my liquids back into place with a few tasty and satisfying gulps. I visualized that bottle of Gatorade. Imagined little red rivulets of liquid running down from the corner of my mouth. I imagined the ache of the cold on the back of my throat and the liquid catching in my mouth as I guzzled it. It was my entire purpose for being. If someone had offered me a night with Angelina Jolie or that bottle of Gatorade...I would have totally fucked Angelina Jolie. But. But. But. I would have been thinking about the Gatorade the whole time.
So there I was, thirsty, sodden, hot, annoyed, in pain, and just about as miserable as a man can be. Finally I made it home, my back entirely soaked in sweat, and got in the elevator. I pressed the button for my floor, the elevator rose, I got out, stuck my key in the lock, and it snapped.
Right in two.
I went to talk to the doorman about it, he tried to get me in, couldn't, called another doorman, long story short it took about 50 minutes to find someone with a credit card so we could pick the lock. All the while my bottle of Gatorade sat in my fridge untouched, and my mouth was parched like the Mojave. If you don't think fifty minutes can be an eternity I defy you to live those fifty minutes of thirst I went through. I defy you. You'll come through on the other side a changed man. Even if you are a woman you will be a changed man. That is how changed you will be.
Eventually I got in and had my Gatorade, but at that point I was so thirsty I gulped it down without tasting it. Then I had a couple glasses of water.
I was already depressed before this happened, but it's a reminder that no matter how unhappy you are life can always throw another indignity at you. It can always put a big locked door between you and your delicious bottle of Gatorade.