Living in Outer Space

As noted in previous blog posts, my memory is shot. I re-write entire stories, I forget birthdays and anniversaries (CUSS hit the four year mark on Oct. 19), and alternatively I believed that I was both 32 and 34 this year. Yesterday I had the ultimate space out day.

I woke up late, but was still tired and remained groggy while eating breakfast. While reading the newspaper, I drifted back into sleep. In hindsight, I think this was when the aliens focused their suction beam on me, but they were thwarted in their morning efforts to kidnap me when my friend Sara called and woke me up. She popped over for what was supposed to be a way to kill 30 minutes before yoga class, but turned into a morning chat fest that ended when I walked her to her noon appointment.

At that point, I was supposed to hop on the subway and meet my friend for lunch downtown. Instead, the aliens seized the moment and sucked me into space. Next thing I knew, it was 3:30 and I checked my BlackBerry life-organizing machine for the first time that day. Boy, did the aliens fuck me up! Still, I felt horrible missing my lunch date, and called my friend.

When I begged for her forgiveness, I left out the part about the alien abduction and took full responsibility for my pathetic inaction. But I'm not sure which is scarier - the fact that I let an afternoon pass and have no idea what I was doing during that time, or my wish that aliens abducted me so I could have some explanation for my spaciness.