Fever Dream
First dates & first week of work
I texted Noah asking him if he would like to hang out this week and he says yes and I say tonight? and he says YES. I can’t tell whether or not Noah is autistic-autistic or just Gen-Z autistic. He is very attractive, this I know for certain, & the answer to the former makes no difference to me. I joke that we should go to Times Square but he takes me too seriously, and starts listing off horrible Times Square bars. Backtrack, backtrack. Maybe let’s stay in the neighborhood, I suggest. Oh, okay. He says, disappointedly. We agree to meet up at a dive bar in Bushwick. He texts me that he’s crouched outside and when I arrive he is indeed perched by the entrance in a goofy looking crouched position. Autistic, autistic, I think to myself. The first words out of his mouth once we lock eyes are GOD I HATE DIVE BARS. I stare at him for a beat. Hi. I say. Hi. He responds. Would you rather go somewhere else? We could go on a walk? I offer. No, we’re already here. He grumbles, swinging the door open and doing a gentlemanly after you motion with his hands. So we walk inside and there’s a big CASH ONLY sign above the bar. ERGHHHH he huffs, stalking over to the ATM to withdraw cash.
I pretend to not notice his frustration and order myself a Gansett, making small talk with the chubby bartender while Noah fiddles with the ATM. He comes back with the cash and orders himself a shot of vodka and a Moscow Mule. I feel annoyed that he didn’t order me a shot too. I don’t want a shot but I want him to order me one anyways. We migrate outside towards the backyard patio. It’s relatively empty, sans a few other midday stragglers. I feel self conscious that people can witness me on this date with this strange man. No one is paying us any attention. Noah slurps down his cocktail in two big sips, left with an empty glass. My mouth parts in confusion, together we eye my untouched beer. He points at my drink. So, are you going to drink that? He presses.
HE IS PRANKING ME. He has to be pranking me. It has been less than 5 minutes since our initial hello’s at this point. What, do you want me to like, chug it? I joke, in an attempt at lightheartedness, bringing the glass to my lips for a small sip. With complete seriousness in his gaze he responds, Yes. I want to leave now. I squint my eyes at him to keep myself from rolling them, but his strangeness seems so sincere that I find myself obliging. I start chugging my beer, making quick progress, slurping, slurping, slurping it down. The liquid is cool and sharp and gets stuck in my throat after a few big gulps. I let out an accidental burp and he goes EW. I ignore him and keep chugging, setting my now empty glass down on the table next to his. Okay, let’s go. He says, straight faced. Okay, I agree.
He starts speed walking away, not checking to see if I will follow. I bring our glasses up to the bartender and stand on the curb for a minute, trying to decide if I should follow him.
I picture myself just walking in the other direction, I don’t think that he would notice if I left. I picture him going to the next bar, downing his shot & his cocktail solo, blissfully unaware that he was just on a date ten minutes ago.
But if I leave, what would I do instead of this? Not much else. I would sit in my bedroom. Pretend to read. Pretend to write. Think about what would have occurred if I had stayed. And I justify my decision further with the knowledge that I feel safe, just annoyed. Just find him ridiculous really, but I’d like to see how ridiculous things could get. So he turns and see’s me unmoved from the entrance to the bar and calls out to me in a confused what-could-be-the-hold-up tone, C’mon! and I do. I catch up to him and we find ourselves at a new bar.
This next bar is half a step up from a dive but it’s enough for him to not complain that HE HATES DIVES so it works for me. We order two Guinness’s and he takes another shot of vodka before we migrate outside to the patio once more. There’s a bit more foot traffic on this street and my spirits feel lifted at all the smiling faces around us. He’s smiling more here too, which is nice. HE IS SO HOT. I can excuse crazy when you look like that. If he was ugly I would be sprinting away right about now but because he is beautiful, okay sure I am a bit charmed.
He sets his drink napkin down next to his pint and says, I feel like this might blow away, pointing at the flimsy square ruffling around on the table. I respond, Yeah, probably. And neither of us do anything about this fact. A few moments later and his napkin of course, blows away. I of course reach out to grab it, but with the hand-eye coordination of a baby deer, I succeed in only smacking my pint over, tipping the full glass onto my top, onto my skirt, onto the floor, where it crashes and shatters into a million little shards. I am soaked in Guinness breast to toe. I look down at my lap where my purse was placed and the contents of my bag are swimming in beer. Amber liquid is dripping down my legs and I am frozen, frozen, frozen, in place. I sit there unmoving, wide-eyed staring down at my lap, waiting for him to jump to the rescue and clean up my mess for me. I finally look up to make eye contact with him, to see what the hold up could possibly be on his jumping-up and rescuing-ness, only to discover that he is laughing so hard that no noise is escaping him, his face twisted up in breathless glee.
“Oh my god. That is SO hilarious.” He says, while attempting to catch his breath. He points at my beer soaked top. “So horrible. This is amazing. This is the best $8 I’ve ever spent.” I look down at my ridiculous appearance, at the droplets running down my legs and dripping off of my skirt. “You, should probably go get changed.” He continues. I grab my napkin from under my glass and attempt to clean myself up. “I’m glad that this happened because it broke any weirdness, and now we can just have fun.” He says. I think about this for a second and squint my eyes at him. I call him autistic in my head three times before agreeing with his sentiment. Yes, I guess this is true. Maybe now we can just have fun. “Okay, yeah I do need to go home and get changed. Or like, should we just call it?” I say.
“If you want.” He responds.
“What do you want?” I say.
“I’m having fun.” He goes. “Okay, I’m having fun too.” I admit. So he walks me back to my apartment and we come to learn that we live on the same street a few blocks apart. I make him wait outside while I run upstairs and change out of my beer soaked First Date Outfit and into my LA Apparel black mini dress. I brush my teeth and spritz on vanilla scented perfume and re-curl my lashes, doing as much low-maintenance, maintenance as I can in a non-suspicious time frame. We walk over to the next bar that’s a few blocks from our apartments, where we play a dragged out game of pool. He is bad and I am bad and a line starts forming of people who want to play next, which gives us both performance anxiety. We forfeit halfway through the second game. We’re finally just sitting and talking and having our first proper conversation of the night. Either the drinks are really flowing or the more I learn about him, the more he charms me. Unsure. He downs another shot & a Mule & I nurse another beer. I am plastered at this point and he is still sober. I learn that he is a tailor in Manhattan & walks miles & miles home to our Brooklyn neighborhood everyday, just ‘cause. I learn that he refuses to take the train or the bus. He doesn’t have many friends. His father and brother are both diagnosed autistic and his mother is clinically depressed, essentially bedridden. He has no decor in his apartment. He refuses to pay for WiFi. He hates dive bars & hot dogs & New Jersey & slow walkers & his last apartment & most things in life. He pauses on his list of things that he hates. Oh we both have one dimple. That’s nice. He says, pointing matter-of-fact at my right cheek. I stare at his matching one and I feel a smile creep onto my lips. Do you want to keep hanging out? I ask. Yes. He responds. I ask him what he does like since he seems to hate most things, and he thinks for a moment. I like juice. He says. Oh, like green juice? I respond. No! He crinkles his nose in disgust that I would suggest such a thing. Like. Apple juice. Orange too. But no pulp.
For our second date, Crazy Noah offers to meet me outside of New Job once I’m clocked out for the night. My shift ends and I wave goodbye to the security guard, where I spot Noah, who’s pacing in front of the Deli next door. Noah! I call out to him, and he turns, a glimmer in his gaze. He’s wearing a white thermal and vintage blue jeans and he looks so cute. Something’s missing. First words out of my mouth are, Where are your glasses?
He looks confused at this before reaching up to his bare face. My glasses! He exclaims, brows furrowing. I must’ve left them at work. Huh. No wonder I couldn’t see as good today. He shrugs at this and together we walk over to a food hall styled restaurant a few blocks away. He asks me if I am hungry and I say no. I ask him if he is hungry and he says no. He tells me to order four things off the menu anyways and I respond, but… we’re both… not hungry? My voice raising at the end like I’m asking a question, despite stating a fact. He says, Let’s do it anyways, it’ll be funny. I don’t get the bit so I do not order anything. He orders: two kielbasas, two burgers, four fries, & four coleslaws, racking up a bill of over a hundred dollars. He brings the trays piled high with food over to our table. There’s a soccer game going on on the big screen TV that neither of us are paying attention to. A twink man our age with a buzzcut & patchwork tattoos was next in line to order, and Crazy Noah leans over to loudly whisper to me that the man capital H Hates him. I ask him why the man hates him and he confesses that he was instagram story cancelled two years ago for zionism allegations. “BUT I’M NOT A ZIONIST!” He exclaims in immediate defense. His voice is strident and carries across the bar. I feel self conscious that someone will recognize him, or I, or the both of us, witness me on my date with an alleged zionist. He reads my mind and continues. HAH. YOU’RE ON A DATE WITH AN ALLEGED ZIONIST. Okay. He explained that the story got all twisted. His version of The Truth is that: he was ranting on his story about the FIT sewing rooms being blocked off by free-palestine protesters, so he didn’t have access to his sewing machine that day, and was very upset over the matter. The screenshots circulated around his school, and he lost hundreds of followers, his reputation permanently tainted. We pick at the kielbasas and burgers and coleslaw for a few minutes before he chucks all four plates of untouched food into the trash, silverware and all. C’mon, let’s go. He says. I follow him outside and we walk over to The Levee, (as per my suggestion). We enter the bar and there’s a pillar blocking the door from being able to open all the way. He points at the gap between the pillar and the door, “BRANDY MELVILLE ENTRANCE.” He loudly states. I hate him in this moment.
My hate goes away once he taps his Amex gold for two Moscow Mule’s, one shot of vodka, and we sit down in a booth by the exit. I notice that he is curt with the bartender, ordering the drinks without a please or a thank you. I get grossed out by this but then he tips heavily, more than I tip (and I tip heavily), so I change my mind about him again. My mind keeps flipping back and forth between
God-This-Guy-Sucks-So-Hard
to
Is-This-My-Future-Husband?
I think to myself: I want to match his crazy today. Once he’s back with our drinks, I grab the glass from his hand and slurp down the cocktail in 3 big gulps before he can even sit down across from me. I’m pleased with my work as I stare at the empty glass before me that I then set on the table in triumph. Wonder if he will be annoyed at my impromptu action. Get anxious. I look up and I see just absolute delight in his eyes and he follows my lead, gulping his drink down as well. I did good, I think to myself. We’re in The Levee for less than a minute before darting out the front door. We’re grinning at each other and I feel so excited for the first time in a year. I stare at his singular dimple, just like mine! We’re speed walking to a new bar and I ask if we can just purchase Deli drinks and sit in McCarren park instead of going to another bar. He responds to this idea with a scoff, That’s a terrible idea. What are we, 16? So we go to another packed out bar, where theres not a single seat available for the two of us. The bartender tells me I’m beautiful and tells Noah that he’s not so bad himself. I order a ‘gansett & he orders another Mule & a shot. I’m staring at the park across the street from us in longing. We’re taking our time on these drinks for once. Noah points in the distance, Look, the Mayor. I roll my eyes on instinct in a what-the-hell-are-you-on-about-now look, but then I follow his gaze and it is indeed Mayor Mandami holding a bullhorn and shining his big pearly iridescent grin at us as he walks by with a parade of supporters. What a fever dream of a day. We finish our drinks and Noah suggests that we head back towards our neighborhood. I say okay, what train should we take? He goes, I don’t take the train, I only do uber blacks. I laugh at his bad joke but then he asks me if I can order the uber, because his phone is dead. Oh, he’s serious.
I respond, The train is like, 3 bucks, maybe free, why would we take an uber black? He doesn’t like my joke about the train being maybe free. He says that he will apple pay me fifty dollars tomorrow, just please order the uber. So I order us the $40 uber, grimacing as I click confirm payment and think PLEASE DON’T GHOST ME I DO NOT HAVE IT IN ME TO PURCHASE A FORTY DOLLAR UBER. We get into the car and I confess to him that my friends and I debriefed after date # 1 and wondered if he was on something stronger than Adderall, stronger than coke. He says he loooves coke and I think to myself, yeah that tracks. I contemplate purchasing us coke, but the thought of this already wired man on stimulants sounds absurd. Don’t have it in me to see this man on a stimulant, yet. Maybe ever. I am already struggling to keep up while he is sober. But I think that if I was on a stimulant, maybe we’d be on equal footing. Realized how stupid this thought process is. How about if no one does coke tonight?
We’re sitting opposite one another in this $40 uber to take us 10 minutes home and I tell him how it crossed my mind that he was maybe on meth when we initially met. He gets quiet and goes “I’m just… being myself.” And I realize what a fucked up thing to say aloud that was, and instantly feel so guilty for my bluntness, as if he hasn’t been exhibiting equally absurd levels of bluntness. IE calling me boring earlier. (He stepped in a puddle & kicked off his shoes & walked to bar #3 barefoot on the Brooklyn streets. He saw the grimace on my face and told me that I am like, kinda boring. K, WHATEVER.
I begin to profusely apologize, “I don’t ACTUALLY think that you’re like, on meth. I was just caught off guard by your….” I trail off, unable to finish that thought process. I was caught off guard by his…. His what? His eccentricity? The way that he skips everywhere? The way that he walks ahead of me, forgetting that I am even there? The way that I feel slightly offended that he would forget that I am even there, but also feel a rush of exhilaration that he is so caught up in his own moment, that he forgets that he is even in the company of another person. Fascinating. It’s fascinating because I am so wholly aware of the person next to me, and of his perception of me, and of making sure that I am making a good impression on him, and yet he is so blissfully unencumbered by the thought process of wondering if I am judging him. He is just in his own little world. He is only thinking about himself, thinking about how to have fun, how to indulge, how to have the best experience possible. I think to myself, this is true hedonism. He does not care what I think, what I want, how my experience is going. He would be acting the exact same way, whether I am there or not. And that was the most attractive part to me. Because I was performing for him, attempting to say the right things and act the right way, and he was performing for no one at all.
He started to crack up at my over-explanation. I’ve been hearing a variation of that my whole life, of people wondering if I am on drugs. It’s okay! You don’t need to apologize, I really don’t care. And I believe him. He really does not care.
The uber drops us off in front of my favorite bar, but he does not like the hotdogs here so we order two more Moscow Mules, one more shot of vodka. We’re sitting closer now, and this is when he finally kisses me. It’s a quick and timid peck on my lips and my chest flutters. I kiss him back & he pulls me closer & now we’re sitting on the couch, kissing in my favorite bar and everything feels nice and I don’t care that I’m being vulgar in public, that the other bar regulars and the bartenders who I know by name now can see me smooching this stranger. I don’t care about how I am being perceived because all I want to do in this moment is kiss this stranger. He slips his hand into mine and we’re holding hands and staring down at our laps, small smiles on our faces. Our synchronized laughs are hearty and genuine, coming from the depths of our chests.
He asks me if I would like to migrate to one final bar and I say yes, and we walk towards the one I like, under the M train stop. We order another round of two Mules, one shot, and I pick up the tab at this bar when he’s not looking, since he’s payed for everything so far and I feel guilty about how much money he has spent on a stranger. He’s giving off the impression of a dude who has Fuck You money, but I don’t like feeling like a taker. He goes to pay the tab and finds out that I did it first, and gets a weird expression on his face. I don’t like that, don’t do that again. He says. He walks me back to my apartment & I let him walk me to the door, walk me to my room, spend the night. I make him wait in the kitchen for ten minutes while I hide my dirty laundry under my bed and sweep the crumbs out of my sheets. I open my door to let him into my Girl Cave and he’s standing in the kitchen, holding a banana peel. Did you just eat my roommates banana? I ask, incredulously. Yes. He responded. He brings the peel into my room and sets it on my nightstand instead of throwing it away. I say nothing to this and we climb into my bed. The first words out of his mouth are, wow there’s a lot of crumbs in your sheets. He states this matter of factly. Yeah, kinda. I agree with him, not feeling embarrassed. Post-coital and I am curled up on his chest while it rises and falls. This is the quietest he’ll ever be, I think to myself. His chest is slightly damp from perspiration and I feel safe in my skin. It’s 7 am the next morning and he wakes with a start. He jumps out of bed and into his pants and out the door. He quite literally jumped into his pants in the sense that he strategically held the denim straight out in-front of him, bent his knees, and then high-knee launched himself into the fabric, sticking a perfect landing.
I finally went on a date where he’s a winner and he’s a winner because he’s a severely autistic man, like so autistic to where I did confer with my friends on if he was maybe on coke or something stronger like maybe, was this my first interaction with someone on meth? He was on neither coke or meth, just severely autistic and I was swooned. So I’m typing this while he lies next to me, soft snores escaping from between his lips.
It is the next day & I am watching the mandatory training videos for my new job. AKA What to do if there is an active shooter (My American Life). The training tells me that if someone tries to shoot up the store I should: 1. Listen, 2. Emphasize, 3. Remain calm 4. Run 5. Hide 6. Lock the door 7. Fight
Think I would most likely just GTFO, but that’s just me. Excited to have a new job, to be coworkers with New Friend. I got hired on to replace a girl who got fired for stealing inventory, Note to self: do not steal inventory at New Job. Sipping on a green tea and resisting the urge to text Noah. I like texting Noah because he responds within the minute, but I need to focus on Diana if this is going to work. Maybe I will take a yoga class after training. Wait, yes.
I sign myself up for a 6pm Vinyasa and feel excited. I don’t know what I was on about this yoga studio earlier, complaining about it incessantly. It has quickly become my new favorite place. I met the instructor of my dreams and she is the most beautiful girl in the world. She wears head to toe LA Apparel activewear and plays Aphex Twin and is a total drill sergeant. Our “breaks” are just planking and she fills me with so much joy & envy.
On my lunch break at work. Eating a clementine & pretzel sticks in the break room, my knees curled up to my chest. I started writing on my laptop but then both of my managers came into the break room and asked me what I was doing and I got all embarrassed so I awkwardly shut my laptop and am now scribbling this down pencil to paper in my diary instead. My break is lasting too long, I want to just go back out there and get this over with. Model employee. I’m bored, I’m bored, and so sleepy and I want to be parallel. Excited for my big fat paycheck, or at least a moderately sized paycheck. Thank you World. My social battery is so gone right now. I walked in with so much energy, and now I am sitting here and so god damn tired. They are so normal, these new coworkers of mine. They are too old to be working at this job, and so am I. I feel much too old to be here right now, and yet here I am. I wonder how long I will last here. Time will tell. I am 3 shifts into having a job for the first time in god knows how long, and just am feeling soooo god why do I have a job I don’t want a job I am so bored of having a job. Hate when I complain about something I wanted. I wanted this job so badly and I kept asking New Friend to put me on and then she puts me on and now all I want to do now that I have it is bitch & moan that I have it.
Misc. Notes
On my way to work I was speed walking to not be late and there was a man standing at the intersection handing out voter registration pamphlets. He came up to me and said are you as friendly as you are fashionable? and I said no, sorry as I sped past him. Our interaction only processed in my brain a few blocks later & I felt mortified at my words. Bitch alert.
I was ruffling through my bag at work, searching for my lipgloss which was nowhere to be found. Felt frazzled because I have a date with Crazy Noah tonight, and my lips are bone dry. Emptied the contents onto the break room table and my manager walked in in that exact moment, with my paraphernalia all splayed out. Wow, didn’t expect that. He joked. Ha ha. I texted Lyn who works 2 blocks away, if they could potentially bring me lipgloss. They said on it and showed up at the store on their lunch break with a fresh tube just for me. Friendship is such a beautiful thing.
Smoked a cigarette with New Friend on our lunch break and proceeded to walk back into the store, kneel before the toilet, and expel all of my stomach contents into the bowl. Bye bye clementine.
Clocked out and walked to the Japanese market across the street, where they sell half off sushi after 8pm. Ah yes, my perfect post-throw up meal. Almost expired sushi.. Mmmmm.
I’ve had my phone bricked all week for scientific purposes IE no instagram, TikTok, YouTube. And then it hit me on the train why i’ve been so irritable and lacking of motivation to write, to film myself, to edit, to do anything really. I’m like, going through withdrawal. Evil iPhone withdrawal. Bleh.
Came home ready for a night of deep & restful slumber, but Roommate has three guests over and it’s 3:17 am and they’re playing the guitar and singing loudly and everything is astringent & bright & all consuming. My room is bathed in light because they’re congregated in the kitchen & I’m burrowing my face beneath my blankets and plugging my ears but wide awake and feeling defeated by today’s events. This is the cost of my beautiful New York life. Sometimes there will be no peace at 3:17 am. Not that deep, TBH.
At one point in the night on my first date with Crazy Noah, he kept eyeing down my purse that was sitting on the table and I said, “Yes?” And he goes, “I’M GOING TO LOOK THROUGH YOUR PURSE NOW.” Snatching it from the table & taking out the contents one by one. He was gentle with everything and asked me questions about the items which felt nice. Maybe bare minimum but he also did not open my diary when he pulled that out so that felt great too.
Leaving home to clock into another long & uneventful day at work. Every shift feels long and uneventful but the tasks are easy & mindless & I get along nicely with everyone so far. I’m entering the train hall & a high schooler two feet taller than me opened the gate for me, to be chivalrous. I said thank you and then held it open for an elderly Hispanic man who said thank you and then he held it open for a mother of two who said thank you. The train rattles into the station & we all climb aboard on our separate missions. Good omen for the day. I’m on time, even early. I’m prepared. I brought with me: an umbrella, a cup of green tea, a granola bar, a paperback, good spirits. I curled my hair & took an everything shower & took my vitamins and took my time doing the dishes and moisturizing. I spritzed on vanilla perfume & brushed my teeth & brushed them again ‘cause it didn’t feel quite right the first time. I put in a fresh set of contacts. I put my dirty laundry in the hamper instead of sprawled across my floor, across my bed. I feel nice. I gua-sha’d for-fucking-ever this morning because my face felt so bloated, but that feeling hasn’t faded. I looked in my front camera and my eyes and cheeks are still swollen & engorged.
I think that it would be funny to bring Noah around my friends tonight. Funny or embarrassing but I feel less easily embarrassed when we’re together because he’s a nice reminder that nothing really matters. He is so crazy and I am so into it. He lives. I want to live. He says the same thing about me. He said he was envious that I can just “do things” for lack of better words, that I just live. It’s strange that we share the same sentiment for one another, but don’t see that in ourselves.
After work I met up with Katie & Garrett who are both in town visiting. Garrett is here because he visits the city every month, just ‘cause & Katie is here because she’s subletting an apartment for the next few weeks, just ‘cause.
Conversation I overheard at Molasses with Garrett & Katie:
“That’s a great sweater!” Dude compliments a girl in a striped blue sweater, she is ghost white with a million piercings on her face and a deep side part of box dyed black hair. “Thanks. I got it at an anarchist clothing swap.” She replies. Jesus. I make eye contact with Garrett as I pull out my notes app. He whispers, “I knew you were gonna write that one down.” I kiss his cheek to hide my laughter. The girl in the anarchist clothing swap sweater orders a small drip coffee with oat and we leave Molasses arm in arm.
The three of us migrate from Molasses to the Albanian dive bar to my apartment to my bed, where we are all parallel & phone scrolling. Vaping and listening to Ella Langley. Talking about our love lives. Love being used loosely. Our like lives. Our lives. Life is in the air. With the way that I am positioned I know that my entire ass is exposed but I am too lazy to adjust and DGAF about my entire ass being exposed in front of either of them. I smell bad from all the walking we’ve done today but DGAF about this either. There is not much I GAF about in this moment except for getting a text back from my not-boyfriend boyfriend, but my not-boyfriend boyfriend is not texting me back. Why has my not-boyfriend boyfriend not texted me back? Garrett & I are feeding into each other’s craziness in this moment because he’s also patiently waiting for a text from his not-boyfriend boyfriend, and being frenzied. I change into a new outfit, just in case he texts me, just in case I see him tonight, and the fabric of my top gets caught in my eyebrow ring. FUCK. Ow. It’s like, so fine. Feeling pissy that he would always respond within the minute and now it’s crickets.
Katie tells me, I have a fun idea that we should do this weekend, and I respond, what, poppers? She pauses… No. Ummm, I was thinking like, we go to Brandy Melville.
OH. Wait yes. Oh my god. I’m fucked. That was fucked. Reality check moment.
Well a few hours after that interaction, Katie is talking to Garrett and asks him, What’s been your favorite job? And Garrett confidently responded: Oh, 4mmc. It’s a middle ground between molly and coke. He’s explaining the intricacies of 4mmc in depth and Katie cuts him off, no, your favorite JOB not DRUG.
OH. Oh my god. He responds. Reality check moment for the both of us.
I’m sitting by the water on my lunch break, cup of green tea next to me. My laptop is open on my lap but no work is being done because I am on a 28 minute phone call with Garrett. My not-boyfriend boyfriend didn’t text me back and I am aggrivated. I double text him. What-fucking-ever. Hi, do you want to hang out tomorrow? I say. He responds instantly:
Do you want to hang out today or no?
If not I believe I am free tmmrw
but not late I have work.
I tell him I can’t tonight (I can but like.) But tomorrow sounds beautiful. Okay, tomorrow. We’ll see what tomorrow holds.
The waves are murky & crashing against the shore. SHIT WATER. I keep thinking to myself. Everyone always calls it shit water. It looks beautiful to me. If I pretend, it’s a Florida beach. I get a very pretty view of the skyline. I will insert a photo of exactly what I am looking at here:
I typed out that sentence and then snapped that photo. My manager teases me that I do not have drip. I have Brandy Melville drip I joked back and we giggled together. I like New Job. New Friend told me that there would be a coworker who I would have a crush on so I checked the schedule for his name and got confused once I met him. Gay man. I texted New Friend, Is he not gay? And she goes,
he’s literally how you like em
Fried & fruity
Like, yeah. I dunno. I should go back inside soon but it’s nice out here and I’m all alone. I like new job. I like my new coworkers and I like how temporary it all feels. I like to remind myself every ten minutes THIS IS ALL TEMPORARY THIS IS ALL TEMPORARY I AM IN CONTROL OF MY DESTINY. Hanging onto that last sliver of hope. I told myself I would go to the grocery store on my lunch break but I sat here instead. Sigh.
I desperately need to go to the grocery store. I’ve desperately needed to go to the grocery store for the past 2 weeks but I’ve been avoiding it because I will make bad decisions, so instead I’ve been making no decisions and making do with the scrap remnants of my very empty fridge.
Okay, talk soon. Sorry I’ve been bad at talking soon, I’m in a bit of a frenzy.
this is quite the entertaining read ☮️
I love your writing soooo much, you’re so real