(Almost) Bionic Woman

November 22, 2006

If you knew me, you'd be worried about me right now.
This is how my day goes.

I fall out of bed at eight AM, pull on my gym trousers before i even have time to wash my face or pee. I feed the cats, straighten out the rugs and wash up the dishes stacked high in the sink since three days ago.
i put on the electric kettle, but i never have time for tea or breakfast because i'm taking out the trash or taking off the clothes from the line.
Brush my teeth, pull on my sneakers, then run out carrying two heavy bags, my laptop, obligatory bottle of water and piles of paper.

At the gym, i run on the treadmill, while my trainer tells me i've lost too much weight; normally that would make me smile, but if you're so thin you can't sleep on your side because your hip bone sticks out too hard, you know you're not happy with it.

I should be in bed.

One hour later, i'm driving 45 minutes to the office, where the moment i walk in i'm faced with phone calls and reminders and people asking me why i havent done whatever it was i was supposed to do yesterday but forgot.

i spend the next eight hours panicking in my chair, typing and filing and calling and cursing and reminding and calling back; without even a moment to stop and think about him or me or how much i miss him.

And when i get up to leave, they look at me in disbelief and ask me where i think i'm going; as it's production week, i'm supposed to work till two AM if that's what it takes to get the job done.
But I leave anyway.

Drive 45 minutes back to my home, where i have just enough time to heat up soup, toast some bread, watch a crap tv show with my feet up on the couch for twenty minutes.
i miss lying still. i miss reading books and writing in my diary.
i miss my friends and those moments of silence that i dont need to fill with thoughts of panic and plans of the next week ahead.

Then I wash my face, tie my hair up, pick up my bags and i'm out the door again. It's past eight in the evening.
My friends are getting dressed to go out partying.

Drive 45 minutes to my other job.
Call my parents; my friends, the man who comes to fix my oven. This is the only time i have to connect to anyone outside my car.
Get there at nine PM. I start my training session, where i am constantly judged, assessed, criticised, asked why i'm panicking, why i'm not focusing, why did i just do that when i wasn't asked to.

It's past midnight when I walk out into the cold desert air, get into the car and switch on the heater to warm my fingers. I wonder why i'm not hungry when i've had nothing but liquids all day, drive 45 minutes back home.
i drive a total of three hours a day in the car.

On the way home, he calls me up, and this is the first time i get to think about him and me and us, but i've been working for 14 hours already, i'm too tired to miss him or wonder why he's not here by my side.
He asks me if i want to chat online when i go home and i resist the urge to yell at him but instead i cry when the line suddenly cuts.
It's only the afternoon where he lives, and no matter how many times i try to explain; he cannot understand that sometimes i am really too exhausted, even for him.

I walk into the flat, the place is in a mess, mugs and papers everywhere; the cats have pushed the rugs up again. I tiptoe into my own room, wondering why on earth i'm acting like a guest in my own house, just because my friend is sleeping in my bed.

I fall asleep at two AM, dreaming of my colleague's disappointed faces; my training and the people who yell and tell me to focus more when my eyes go funny; my feet twitch with excitement and worry.

Even when i sleep i'm still panicking. it just doesn't stop.

I wake up at eight AM before the alarm even rings, stumble out of bed and pull on my gym trousers even before i've opened my eyes or washed my face. My friend Tamara wakes up and watches me dress.
"I can't believe you," she says as i pick up the two bags and drag a comb through my hair, "You've almost become bionic woman."

I try to smile and slip on my sneakers.

I don't want to tell her that inside i'm no such thing. I'm thisclose to breaking down, and if he doesn't come to save me soon, there may be nothing of me left.