I'm rarely in the mood for Coney Island, but yesterday it hit the spot, dead-on. Monkey and I drove out there (we're only about 15 minutes away--there are some advantages to living in Outer Ongoolia!) and went for a long run on the beach in this amazing thaw. Glorious! Sparkling ocean, radiant sun. The decrepitude of the neighborhood, on that hopeful spring-like day, seemed more poignant than depressing.
We pulled into an abandoned lot and Monkey began teaching me how to drive a standard. Apparently I'm a brilliant clutch-wrangler, but the task of learning how to drive with stick shift seems daunting.
We shared a ceremonial Nathan's hot dog and then went home to change and shower and get dressed for our big Red Lobster date in Queens. No, we're not sure why, either. I just had a wild hair up my craw to go to Red Lobster--some deep primordial need to eat moderately-priced seafood in a comforting atmosphere.
I attempted to watch the Hallmark movie about the woman with schizo-affective disorder and her sister, figuring it would shed some light on my own situation (I have a sister who is schizophrenic, in addition to being learning-disabled, and she is just about able to look out for herself) but it was too depressing, and all the commercials were for Hallmark cards, and they all made me cry.