so it has come to this.

VS.

The first sign was the nightmare.

In the early hours of Sunday morning a horrible dream woke me, leaving me breathless and reaching for the dog. It did not involve lycanthropes and airborne switchblades, not your typical fare. No rabid dogs or tidal waves or legs that wont work while the rapist creeps closer. Rather, I dreamt my dog was angry at me due to the fact that I'd forgotten to bench LaDanian Thomlinson, a Chargers Running Back, who was injured. Wha...?

It was a nightmare about fantasy football.

What makes this stranger is that Thomlinson is not even on my team. Stranger still, my dog doesn't understand the concept.

Fantasy football has taken over my inner life. And perhaps my outer life. This morning, as I walked to the train, I pulled out my blackberry and checked last nights scores. YES! My team, The BROOKLYN PINK DRESSES beat James Coker and his damn team called THE 1991 DENVER BRONCOS. I was happy! So happy! Then I looked up and I saw a homeless looking man muttering to himself. Behind him, he dragged a granny cart filled with empty bottles. An epiphany hit me. I'm not that guy. I am not a homeless guy. But who I am, is this girl who doesn't know anything about football, all of the sudden obsessed with fantasy football. And why? I don't know. The homeless guy probably had a better sense of himself and his purpose in that moment. He was spiritually intact. But me? I'm empty, clinging to tight end, Jeremy Shockey's performance and Chad Pennington's injury report. I am a husk.

So it has come to this.