employablog

There was a period of more than several days after I moved into my apartment and—notably—several days after I began comfortable white-collar employment, in which I slept under some towels. Depending on the temperature outside, the number of towels ranged from one to as many as I could find, which was always four. Because that’s how many towels I own.

I was excited when my comforter arrived in the mail, prinicipally because I would no longer have to check the weather with trepidation each night to decide how many towels to put on the bed. But also, the addition of a down comforter would allow the display of my duvet cover, which I had chosen to match the walls and the furniture and my young-single-guy-in-the-city attitude.

When the big day came, I celebrated by cleaning up the remaining signs that two weeks earlier my life had been completely encapsulated in some suitcases. I straightened, dusted, put away some embarassing knick-knacks, took out some marginally cooler knick-knacks and hung up a big mirror above my dresser. Finally, my room was completely unpacked.

That night I was startled awake by an enormous sound of crashing glass. My fists clenched and for a terrifying second I realized that I was alone in this apartment. I was no longer surrounded by a girlfriend and roommates and friends and security guards and other college students up all night to watch the O.C. or study for a midterm, and now it was ‘fight or flight’ time and I didn’t feel capable of either and I was in my boxers in bed and WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT NOISE.

In the next second I saw the broken glass from the knick-knack my mirror had knocked over as it crashed to the ground. Heart racing, I pulled the comforter up to my chin and the terror subsidied. Sort of.

This entry was posted on Sunday, October 15th, 2006 at 2:02 am and is filed under Trepidation. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.