First Day of Spring?

I made a promise to myself that I’d finally do it on the first day of spring. Today was the day. Today was the day. The day had arrived. That day was today and it was here. Today was the day, the day, the day, the day.

Was it though? I mean, let’s not get carried away here. I know I said I would, swore I would even. But is the first day of spring really a definitive day? Yes, I know the calendar would have us believe that. Time is an illusion; we all know that. Besides, it’s very, very cold outside. Spring isn’t cold. Fresh, maybe. But cold? Cold is straight up wintertime. Do we really think that today is the first day of spring, and by extension the day? What about next Wednesday?

OK, fine. Ugh. Honestly, I think you should have some more compassion for me. I don’t want to do it today. I don’t want to do it any day, really. Oh, stop! I know I must. I said I would, didn’t I?

Wait, wait – I’m not ready. What am I even supposed to say to him? I can’t just come out and…you can’t just blurt that out, can you? You got to lead into it. Start with some pleasantries. Hey. Hi. How’re you doing? Nice sweater, like the plaid. Rev up the conversation with some, “You know the trains haven’t been the same since that guy fell into the tracks at Times Square … it’s the clean-up that’s taking forever.”

Oh.

I didn’t even think about that. No, yea, I hear you. Keep off the tracks, got it.

I swear I didn’t mean for the pun to happen. It, kind of, came out of me. No, I’m not making light of it. It’s a horrible thing that happened to that man. Of course! I know the man died. It’s terrible. Awful way to go. I heard about the memorial, actually. Can you believe the family is up in arms about a closed casket? Is an open casket even an option at this point? I mean, what is there left to see anyway? I am being serious. That’s a real question. They found pieces of him under three different train cars. What, are they going to make the mortician sew him up like a jigsaw puzzle just so they can have an open casket? I’m just saying. Oh, come off it, if I was joking I’d throw in something about Frankenstein. But I didn’t, did I? Jesus. Sometimes I think you just want to argue with me.

I’m not stalling, you’re stalling. Wow. OK. You’re not wrong, I just don’t like your tone.

Alright, I’m ready. Game time. I know it. You know it. It’s about to go down. Maybe. I feel significantly less confident than I’ve ever felt. Is it hot in here? I’m having a heat stroke – wait, no, wrong word – hot flash. I’m having a hot flash. This is menopause. I need a cold compress. Could you just… I am not faking this. My cheeks are burning up. My face is flushed. Is my face flushed? It’s flushed. It’s so red, I can feel it.

Well, of course I’m nervous. God, I’m sweating. You know what, I’m just going to run back to the house real quick – lie down, maybe put on some more deodorant. This V-neck is too tight. I know it’s not actually touching my – I’m just feeling this impending sense of deep, dark anxiety. Do you have a Xanax? What do you mean no? Aren’t you even a New Yorker? Ho-ly fuck, look at how adorable that puppy is. It’s so small and fluffy. Like the end of a q-tip with a nose. I cannot even get over it. Huh? What? Yea, no, still dying over here. Don’t be like that. If you were dying from menopause and you looked over and you saw a puppy and it made you even the slightest bit happier at the end, you would say something too!

Where are you going? What? Why? Oh, don’t be like that I’m going to do it. Yes. What’s wrong with being dramatic first? You know, I’ve always wanted to be ack-tore. A thespian of the world stage. And instead? What do I do? That’s right. I sell window treatments. Let me have my moment, OK? OK. So really though, what do I do? I just go up to him? Just walk right over and look at him at an uncomfortably close distance until he HAS to acknowledge me? Right, but then what? Have a little faith in me, I’m not that incompetent. I already said I wouldn’t talk about the train guy. Yes. Jesus. OK. – Is that him? Is that Chet? Oh my God, don’t look at him. What are you doing? You don’t need to look down, just don’t look at him. What are you – have you ever socialed before? Be cool. Be – holy fuck it is Chet. Of all the coffee shops in the city. He sees me. He sees me. He is making eye contact with me. What do I say? Shit. You should have let me get deodorant. I SAID BE COOL, JANICE!

Chet? Oh my word, it is you.

Nothing’s wrong with my voice. I was just practicing my Louisiana plantation owner accent for an audition. It’s fine though, the character is black…oh no.

Yes, yes, I am white. Very white. Probably won’t get the part. What a dream role, though. Representation is very important to me. You know what, I’m so glad I ran into you because you actually changed my mind about auditioning. Yea, no thank you. It’s not every day you get to confront your privilege, so I really owe you one. Do you like coffee? I like coffee too. So…yea, oh my God, you have places to be I get it. No, go get to your places, Chet. OK. Of course, so nice running into you too. Bye!

Don’t even fucking say anything.