I have been in a b-a-a-a-d mood lately. I'm going to blame it on the August heat, which has been intolerable. The weather has gotten so bad that the New Yorkers have turned into Midwesterners; all we do is talk about it. We cite statistics and affect miserable faces. Just last night my friend Nick, a perfectly reasonable human being with much better things to do with his time, started telling me about how many days the temperature had hovered in the 90s this year as opposed to last year.

And then I replied, "I know! It's crazy! I checked the weather this morning at 7 AM and it was already 80! Could you imagine?"

We both shook our heads sadly.

And here I am writing about it, even.

So let's talk instead about how the weather transforms what should be a reasonable mood into a bad mood, because that's infinitely more interesting - to me, anyway. For example, because I don't want to play outside, I stay in my apartment a lot, where there is plenty of time for me to get bad ideas in my head. On Friday afternoon, after I finished my second book in two days, I thought, "Wouldn't it be a good idea to call the last guy I dated?"

How is this ever a good idea? The only time it might work is if you went out with them just once, or you went out with them for over a year. The one date that didn't work guy could potentially be your friend. The long-term guy should be your friend by now. The anything in between guy is just trouble - there was just enough invested that there's bound to be resentment, and yet not enough invested that you feel obligated to be somewhat good and fair to each other. But I like to think that I can surpass all odds and be friends with anyone. I am wrong, of course. Especially with my temper.

I know, I know, there's no one to blame but myself. But I swear if it were May, that shit never would have happened. I would have been sitting in a park, reading, or outside at a cafe with a girlfriend, or anywhere but where I was, which was flat on my back in my apartment, trying to stay cool, and letting my mind wander.

I carried that bad mood with me right to the train station, where I was catching a train to some as yet unnamed location on the Jersey shore for the weekend. Now I know you're going to think I'm an idiot, but I don't know if I've ever even taken a train to New Jersey before. I think I took the PATH once to Maxwell's, and that's about it. To me, a train to Jersey is the same as a train to anywhere else, which means you get a reserved ticket in advance because trains sell out.

See, I usually only ever take trains out of town for a holiday. That's when everyone is carrying luggage and like, presents for family members, so the conductors are understanding. But the fact is, you've got a ticket in your hand, so if you get there in advance, you know you're going to make it to your destination.

Accordingly, when I arrived at the train station, I was fixated on getting my reserved seat. My focus should not have been on the tickets, I learned, but instead on getting on the train (where, it should be noted, many people purchase the tickets), because when that train pulls in, you've got about three minutes to do it.

So I'm standing there, in the heat, cursing my love life, cursing myself for not having asked which train I should take, cursing everything around me, and then, of course, circling back and cursing my love life again. My phone connection switches on and off every few minutes. I am leaving messages for Cinde saying things like, "I'm getting nervous here. What time does the train leave?" and, "Should I be worried?"

Finally my phone rings.

"Jami, go to track (static). Now. We're on the train. It's going to leave."

"What track? What?" I grab my cute overnight bag, packed with a brand new beach towel, three books, and magazines. "Where am I going?"

"Track (static). We're in the last two cars."

"What? I can't hear you. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck."

Suddenly it has become a matter of life and death that I get on this train. If I stay in Manhattan for the weekend, that can only mean more sitting around and being miserable in my apartment for two days straight, interrupted by brief visits to movie theaters and delis. New Jersey means the ocean! No ex-boyfriends! Wild and free!

"Which track? I can't hear you," I said.

"Track one. Hurry. Now."

I rush to the track, dodging people, sweating. I am O.J. Simpson in a car rental commercial, with, in fact, similar murderous intensity. I run down the stairs to find an empty platform and a full train. With closed doors. I look at the conductor, and she looks at me.

"Please," I say. "My friends are on this train."

She is an unpleasant woman with a hooked nose.

"Can't you just let me on?"

I feel a small tear trickle down my cheek.

She does not respond. I call my friends.

"She won't let me on," I say. My throat starts to choke up. I am sweating like my father after two martinis. She won't even acknowledge me at this point. She turns back to her work.

I walk upstairs. I make some hysterical, paranoid phone calls which involve me cursing loudly in public ("That fucking bitch conductor...") which leads several of my friends to wonder if this time, I've really lost my shit.

I catch a cab home. Cinde calls me and wonders if maybe I wouldn't like to take the next train which, I discover, comes in a half hour.

"Yea, that might have been a good idea," I said. I sighed. "But I don't think I would have been good company anyway."

It was hot in the cab.

At my apartment building, a guy waiting for the elevator runs to the door to let me in. I'm on my cellphone bitching to another friend. The phone goes out the minute I get in the elevator.

The guy pushes his floor, and says, "Where are you going?"

"Nowhere," I said, miserably.

"No I mean, what floor?"

"Oh. Six."

He pushes floor six, and eyes me warily.

I hold my breath. I did try to stop myself. It was just steaming in that elevator, though. Like a little box of steam in there. I couldn't keep my mouth shut.

"I was supposed to go out of town," I said. "I missed the train!" I make a sad noise.

"Oh, I was supposed to go out of town, too. Long Island. I couldn't get on the train either. It happens."

"Well, it sucks."

"It's going to rain all weekend anyway. You'll be happy you're in the city."

"Really?" I perked up.

"I don't know, actually," he said. "I'm just trying to make us feel better."

That's we do here in the city. We try to make ourselves feel better by picturing our friends stuck in the rain.

For the record, it rained yesterday afternoon for about an hour. It cooled down maybe five degrees, but shot back up soon after. I watched the sky turn grey and then blue again from my couch.

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