A couple weeks ago, a friend of mine said that he’d been reading the old parts of my blog, “back when you were writing.” Yes, okay. Thanks for the out-pointing. Noted, and appreciated.
Last year was hard. This year has gotten better, because that’s what happens in all of this. The big picture comes in and out of focus, and it grows bigger with every passing year. Even if an older and wiser someoneorother does warn you about this, it won’t make sense until it does, and there’s nothing to be done anyway. Perspective is a gift, nostalgia is a curse. Who wants root beer?
I want root beer. I like root beer. People who don’t like root beer confuse me. People who hate root beer terrify me.
My girlfriend and I broke up last year. Don’t think I mentioned that in here. It’s probably why I resorted to reposting Instagram photos instead of writing, among other things. The breakup was for the best, but knowing that didn’t make it any easier. When I moved out of the apartment in December I felt untethered, and it was both exhilarating and terrifying. What the fuck do I do now? What the fuck don’t I do now? Does anyone really care what I do?
Then you update your Ok Cupid profile. You go out on a bunch of dates –– the bad ones are bad, and the good ones are usually an illusion. You get disillusioned. You watch too much TV. You eat too much kettle corn. You procrastinate. You struggle to fill your Brita in a sink full of dirty dishes. You start to play guitar again. You order from Fresh Direct because you have a coupon, but you have serious trouble opening the pickle container, so you tweet @FreshDirect and they promptly send you a .pdf with instructions on how to open it.
The frozen pizza you ordered is far too large to eat by yourself, which at that moment in your life makes you sad, because you know that @FreshDirect can’t fix it with a .pdf. But the pickles are delicious, so that helps a little.
You carry on. The short hispanic man downstairs repeatedly complains about the noise coming from your apartment, but you really aren’t making any noise, so you start to think he’s crazy, and then he calls the police, and when they arrive they apologize to you because they know you really aren’t making any noise and the guy downstairs is probably crazy. This makes you feel better, but it doesn’t stop the crazy man from banging on your door and telling you to be quiet. This is only a temporary sublet, so that’s a good thing.
At one in the morning you walk a mile to the CVS near your old apartment to buy toothpaste and vitamins.
You grow tired of online dating, and you start to wonder if you are expecting too much. From everything. The weather gets cold and you hide in your apartment. You intend to call people you haven’t called in a while, but you usually don’t, and when you actually do they usually don’t answer because phones aren’t for talking anymore –– don’t you know that?
Your favorite emoticon is poop.
And “seemingly out of somewhere,” the frozen pizza gets eaten, and it doesn’t even taste that good but it doesn’t matter because she’s eating it, too, and you’re wondering where she came from and what she’s doing in your living room, and for a moment the big picture comes into focus and it all makes sense.
And then the guy from downstairs bangs on the door and complains about the noise, but all you’re doing is eating pizza, and the cops seem to have stopped responding to his complaints anyway.
And you don’t know what to do with yourself but you’re okay with that.
Everything will be okay.
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