Windex: The New Liquid Courage

Last night a group of us went to dinner at a place in Brooklyn called Chez Lola for our friends’ birthdays. Linda and Adam are married and share the same birthday. They kind of look alike, too. Except that he’s Jewish, and she’s not… yet.

While at dinner, my friend Michele raised a glass to toast my last day of work (this past Friday), and congratulated me for “having the courage to do what most of us at this table wouldn’t.”
“You mean because you’d never do something so stupid?” I asked.
“Seriously, how many of us here would love to quit our jobs to write? And you’re doing it!”
I’d been feeling pretty panic-stricken all week as my three-week notice came to an end. So it was nice to hear that my friends don’t all think I knocked my head one too many times into a wall during a blackout. And that, in fact, they have faith in me — something I can have a hard time mustering for myself. Especially now, when I turn on the radio each morning to hear more glum news about the economy, job loss, and the dreaded “R” word.

It may have taken courage to quit my job, but I think the real test of strength will come in these next few weeks, when I’m staring at my computer screen and can’t think of a single thing to say that hasn’t already been said 5,000 times before. I’ve been putting so much pressure on myself before I begin, that I don’t even want to touch my keyboard.

So this morning, Ryan and I got up and cleaned house in a serious way (straight faces, no smiles). I even gutted my overstuffed file cabinet, tossing out years of useless paperwork. Our 1,000-square-foot apartment took seven hours to clean. I am wiped out, but I have to say, it worked. Ten orgasms couldn’t have left me more blissfully exhausted. Twelve, maybe. Who needs special K to fight the blues when you’ve got housework?

Ryan doesn’t really understand this whole cleaning thing, so today I showed him the way. I tricked him by saying we were going to learn karate, which was really dumb on his part since he knows I don’t know karate. I watched him while shouting, “Windex on! Windex off! Windex on!” Then we got into a tussle, and when he tried to defend himself, he figured out that he still doesn’t know shit about karate. But we do have a clean house, and I’m ready to write.