I have laundry facilities in the basement of the apartment building where I’m now living. At 8 a.m., I thought I was getting
an early start but there was Eve down there in the laundry room sitting
at a table reading a book. I thought it could have been a Bible, but
wasn’t sure. She eyeballed my two trash bags of dirty clothes.
Is it possible to get burned out on, or overwhelmed by,
simple human interaction? My recent nightlife apathy stems from equal
parts unwillingness and utter lack of motivation to take on the
potential hours-long task of getting from Point A (leggings and hot
rollers) to Point B (prettified and in a reasonable parking space). As
the great Peter Gibbons said, “It’s not that I’m lazy, it’s that I just
don’t care.” But I want to.