March 20, 2013 — miss.fab

March 20, 2013


March 20, 2013 — miss.fab

miss.fab

My alarm goes off at 6:24am.

It’s the voice of Jeremy Camp singing — In the morning, when I rise, give me Jesus. I fumble under my pillow to shut him up, cussing out loud when my phone crashes to the ground instead. It goes quiet, and I’m briefly relieved.

I don’t realize I’ve fallen back asleep until his voice fills my ears again shortly afterward, shrill and bass-less as it bounces back and forth in the millimeter separating him and my hardwood floor. I open my eyes and let them gradually adjust to the sunless morning. The heater turns on, and a waft of warm air travels to my face, reminding me that I am, in fact, in New York and it is, in fact, 23 degrees Fahrenheit outside.

Why, thank you for that wonderful news! For a second there, I was afraid I was still on vacation where I didn’t have to set an alarm, and where it was already 70 glorious degrees of sunshine by breakfast!

I try to recall why it is again I’m here and not there. After spending a week drinking 25 cent martinis at 2 in the afternoon in New Orleans’ French Quarter, declaring with Gloria Gaynor that I Will Survive! at a karaoke bar on Bourbon Street, munching on beignets at Café Du Monde, taking a road trip to my friend’s “small” mansion in Austin, catching T.I., Pharell, and Usher in the same day at a music festival, eating party rice at a naming ceremony, and doing all of the above while wearing short nothings and flats, you’ll forgive me for struggling to re-calibrate my body to a six-to-six routine in a miserable winter that has overstayed its welcome.

I briefly consider emailing in sick.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the Post-it note taped to the wall next to my computer:

Ahhh, of course. This is why I must get up and go to work.

Jeremy is relentless on the floor, crooning in desperation, Give me Jeeeee-eeeesus!

You and me both, Jeremy. You and me both.
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miss.fab is a software ninja on Wall Street, fiercely committed to creating new bugs and defeating existing ones so that rich people can get richer (sadly, she is not yet one of said rich people). She is still as rudely surprised by the unpleasant Northeast winters as she was her first winter 6 years ago. She also still doesn’t know what she wants to be when she grows up. She is, however, certain of her love for Gabriel Macht and hopes he will divorce his supermodel wife and marry her. When she experiences bouts of depression and/or euphoria, you can catch her venting at This Moment Is For You.