I miss Coopertown.

I miss Lowe.

I miss my Mom.

Saved by the bell. It's Ali. 

"Hello."

"You okay? Talk to me."

"I mean technically, I'm okay. But I'm far from my finest."

"Fucked, but not the way you like to get fucked."

"Correct," I confirm amazed that this is actually how we talk.

"Give it to me," she commands. "I have nothing to do but listen to your god-awful day. I'm here." I swallow.  Sidenote: I normally reserve days like this for old-fashioned pen-on-paper writing. You realize I have excellent penmanship, right? Beautiful, perfectly slanted script. It flows. It's too beautiful to write the words of this day, so don't hold it against me. Dirty little dilemmas! And here's the small window into my day from hell...

"You threw a stick of deodorant at his head?!?!" Ali screeches. I move the phone away from my ear. "Dude, amazing." 

"No Al, seriously, I was spazing the fuck out. Let me put this in terms you can understand. It was Unleash the Beast, the trilogy. No joke." 

"Oh god. It just all came rushing out at once?"

"Confirmed. You know I can't drink when I have shit bottled up. And the worst part is that I forgot all about it until this morning when I text asking him to walk the dog, and he said he wasn't talking to me. So I spent the whole day apologizing, and I had to write the girl an apology email."

"You're fucking kidding me, right? You did that?" she exclaims, clearly not understanding the extent of my behavior, my victim's embarrassment or the uncomfortable environment I single-handedly created in a matter of minutes. Oh you didn't know, I can make people feel incredibly uncomfortable almost instantaneously. It's not something I'm proud of. Occasionally it has served me well, but most of the time it makes me look like an asshole. (Hari is mentally confirming this. The first step is admitting you have a problem, darling.)

"So then you go to talk to your boss..." Ali urges putting me back on track.

"Yeah, and I start talking about the doctor's note situation, and suddenly, I'm crying in his office. He was like, 'It's okay Emma. Take a deep breath.' And every time I attempted speech, it started again." I mimic the sound for dramatic effect, not that I need to because trust me, this day is dramatic enough. 'Save the drama for your mama.' was a sign in my brother's high school guidance counselor's office. I never liked that she had that. I thought it lacked sensitivity on the part of counselor and indicated judgement. Who wants to go to counselor who's going to judge them? And creating/living/breathing drama are essential high school functions.

"You didn't? Oh, god."

"Yeah, and then I'm crying for a totally different reason than he thinks I'm crying," and I go on to explain to her where the tears are really coming from and unveil the meaning behind the late afternoon boss' office waterworks.  "I was in there for an hour Ali, and for the record, thank god my boss never took up therapy because he has zero capacity for empathy."

"Few people do. It's a learned skill that requires training."

"That skill is a god damn curse."

"You're telling me. Em, you had it coming from every direction."  Truer words have never been spoken. Well, probably from somebody, but not by Ali and not today. And she's right. Not only did I royally piss off the person I care about most in the whole entire world, but I embarrassed him and that is much much worse. Plus I am wearing a full baby-sitting outfit: nerdy jeans, a striped long sleeve cotton shirt and velcro Pumas. I look like the "before" picture in a fashion magazine. My dirty hair is half slicked back in a ponytail and half shooting out in all directions. People likely mistake my dark circles for marks of domestic violence. I wish someone would punch me in the face. When I worked at Tao, we used to find creative ways to inflict pain on ourselves. Hypothetically speaking, if I lay down on the ground right here, can you kick me repeatedly until I die from internal bleeding? Please. Um, pretty please with a cherry on top?

For the majority of our talk I complain about work, and Ali gives supportive interjections. She's soothingly biased, and doesn't point out the fact that 70% of my daily pains were self-inflicted. In fact, she acts like they weren't.

"Okay, and I'm the first to admit when I do something wrong, out-of-line, stupid, and so on and so forth. But it's like how many times does he need to reiterate it?" I'm on the fourth bad part of my day, protesting and frustrated. "I get it. I'm actually the idiot." (Did you hear that Neil?) "But like, I heard you the first time, ya know?"

"Right," she agrees to make me feel better, "He doesn't need to keep saying it." 

"I mean, basically I was just spouting off because I was insecure about the fact that I always have to be the initiator."

"Emma should not have to be the initiator," confirms Ali.

"Right. It makes me feel like a crazy stalker, and Al, I don't need anything else to make me feel crazy." 

My friend Jess always says, "Give it some time before you unleash the crazy. You never want to unleash the crazy too soon." She would be really disappointed in my recent behavior. Come home Jess.

"Basically he doesn't want to hang out with me. So there is nothing I can do. Then I run into my friend just before you called who attempted to cheer me up by suggesting I join him for dinner at Peasant."

"You're favorite."

"Right. And I had to kindly decline because I've had such a bad day I can't muster up a bit of energy even for that burrata. Even for the skate. Although I could use about ten bottles of wine right now - Billy Joel style."

"You passed up Peasant? You must be hurting."

"I just want it to go away," I replied in a pitiful, small voice. I want to go back to the days where if you pissed off a guy he still at least wanted to have sex with you. Why can't we still live like that? When did they become thinkers?

"The first day Obama's President Elect, Emma can't cure something with her sex appeal. Those are for sure related. I just need to figure our exactly how," she says matter-of-factly. I laugh. It's all I can do not to run out and buy a chastity belt. Laughter is my only option.

"Have I totally lost it on all accounts. My work, my friends - oh, I forgot to mention that I was basically in a mini-fight with my friend's husband for a better half of the day - guys, my body isn't even working with me right now. I've had like three headaches in the past two weeks, and I don't even get headaches! My body is speaking to me, and my brain is trying so hard to shut it up that it's causing a headache...a brainache if you will."

"Brainache, right. I'm sorry I have no pearls of wisdom or helpful advice."

"Plus, all of my fan-club up and declared mutiny," I pointed out.

"You have no fans," Ali confirmed.

"That would explain these hot flashes."

"Not funny."

"I tried."

"Okay, well easy things first. What are you going to do about the dude from last night?" Ali asks, referring to the guy who claimed he was sick and couldn't meet me but failed to tell me all day until finally I had to text him! 

"Well, I guess he can take me out again if he wants to, but I can't be running all over town for someone I don't even know. I can't afford the shoe repairs. I don't roll that way. Ever. Or at least I didn't, and suddenly I'm bending the rules right and left. This is bullshit."

"Right. Do some courting you lazy asses."

"I better be drinking $30 dirty martinis after that lame excuse."

"You and your dirty martinis. The way to Emma's heart." Ali says, recollecting her dive bar bartending days. I was the only person who would ever ask for dirty martinis...and then complain to my friend the bartender (Um, Ali! People stay with me here.) that they weren't made right.  

"Listen, the worst that happens is you waste two hours out of your life and have a headache the next day."

"True. It's fine. I mean, maybe he is telling the truth. Just because a million men lie doesn't mean this one did."

"And he did apology text you several times."

"It's nice to be on the receiving end of an apology after a day of handing them out like Luna Bars," I reply.

"No, yesterday they were handing out flavored water. Sick. Don't fuck with my water."

"I always ask for extra when they have the Luna Bars. They are kind of big too. It's not like they're trying to sell you with one morsel of Luna. They want you to really get a good bite before you buy."

"I'm hungry."

"I have too much anxiety to eat, so I'll probably have TUMS for dinner."

"Great alternative to Peasant. I still can't believe you aren't out to dinner, drinking wonderful wine and eating the skate. You poor thing."

"Oh, and you know how I feel about that skate," I agree.

"I'm sorry Em."

"If you spend your entire day either apologizing or crying or both at the same time, you should eat some TUMS and go to bed. You should not eat anything that will make you feel fat. You should steer clear of wine or anything that could potentially increase tear production. Rules are rules. For the record, I haven't cried since February. That must be some kind of girls-gone-wild record."

"Oh god, then you needed it. Next week we'll plan a dinner with the girls," she suggests in a last ditch effort to comfort me, "I haven't seen you in too long."

It works like a charm. She's good for a trained therapist. "Okay. I need that. Wednesday or Thursday or Friday or Saturday or Sunday or D. All of the Above," I reply.

"I like the way your mind works. I love you."

"I love you too."

I walk up my stairs and into my apartment, dog in tow. I sit down and write this entry. Now I am finished and going to put this day away. Before bed, I glance at the magnet on my refrigerator to remind myself the following:

"Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is a quiet voice at the end of the day saying, I will try again tomorrow." -Mary Anne Radmacher