Archived, December 2006
A statement popped into my head this morning, and it was horrifying on several levels. Chief among them, the fact that I can remember anything of my high school science education.
Energy can be neither created nor destroyed.
I was on the shuttle to work when my iPod began its routine of lies. “No more battery power remains,” it mocked. This, after a night of charging. I’m beginning to feel like the girl whose bedroom Apple sneaks out of in the middle of the night. Lies, iPod. Lies.
And with the shut-down of John Hiatt, so went my energy and general will to move. I don’t understand, Bill Nye. I had tons of energy last week, and over the weekend. I baked, and I shopped, and I danced around and drank and filled my hours with social productivity. Where, then, is all this energy now, if it cannot be destroyed? I’ve become my own lying iPod.
I like to imagine my energy on vacation somewhere. Preferably warm. With icy beverages. Maybe being served by a subtly attractive young man. Is my energy at an early spring training with Chase Utley in Clearwater? Or maybe it’s in Galway, having long since tired of waiting for me to get my ass on a plane (February. Get ready. That trip is coming.). I kind of hope my energy is just a little bit drunk right now, napping somewhere where the sun is actually warm (as opposed to this godforsaken place, where the sun is a lying filthy whore, looking all bright and nice and warm, but existing in soulless ice).
And so, having been overcome by a lethargy so severe that it defies description (and apparently, remedy — thanks, science), I have turned to the only route of subversion I could devise, and I am slugging back coffee in fierce foreshadowing of the hot girl-on-wine action I will be rocking at tonight’s ML holiday party.
So I’m pretty much beginning to think Starbucks died for my sins.