Snapshot

I don’t have any one good story to tell, to elaborate on and make jokes about.  This post is just about my life, which is itself a cruel, cruel joke.

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~Last Thursday, I got a Facebook message and friend request from my sister’s ex boyfriend.  I won’t go into a ton of detail, but this guy is a paranoid, delusional psychopath.  He and my sister broke up a few years ago, and it wasn’t exactly amicably.  He and I didn’t get along and we certainly weren’t “friends.”  So why contact me now??  I ignored it.

 

Eventually though, my sister egged me on, and I messaged him back.  I assumed he needed or wanted something, so I asked.  He claimed to just be curious as to how I was doing.  More small talk was made, and eventually he ended the conversation, but not before sending me a video clip from a movie, of a guy hitting on a girl.  In the clip, the guy says, “If there’s ever anything I can do for you, or, more to the point, to you, you let me know.”   Wait, what???

 

~I went on a coffee date Saturday afternoon.  I was a little nervous, because I was afraid this was going to be another situation where he’s more interested in me than me in him.  It was fine, he’s a likable guy, but a little bland.  I don't even have any funny stories from our encounter, which is really disappointing, because that's kind of the reason I agreed to meet him.  At this point, any "dates" I agree to are solely for gathering material for this blog.

 

After, I went to Scott’s family Thanksgiving get-together.  It was nice to see his mom, sister, and nephew.  But after a few hours, I felt weird about being there, so I made some lame excuse about having to leave.  Sometimes I feel weird about doing stuff with Scott, because I’m afraid it makes me look desperate or like a loser that my ex-boyfriend is one of my only friends, and I’m afraid his family pities me because I’m a lonely, friend-less old hag.

 

~Saturday night, my sister and I decided to make a French fry run to the bar.  Seriously.  We were foolish enough to believe that we would walk in, order ONE drink, get some fries, and go home.  Fast forward 5 drinks and 2 shots later, and I somehow managed to face plant while walking to my car.  Literally, one minute I was walking and the next, my face was scraping across the parking lot.  I caught my fall with my face.  And now I look like a monster. 

 

~Sunday, I spent most of the day crying because who falls on their face?  And how can I be so stupid?  And also because my face fucking hurt.  My eye was swollen shut and there was still gravel in my cheek, but it hurt too much to properly clean it up.  I felt embarrassed that I fell again (this has been happening a lot lately), and that I actually have to go out in public the next two days (for class), and I was going to have to explain to people that I fell on my face.  Fuck me.

The face of an idiot

 

 

~The Alcoholic called me Monday night.  He wanted me to come over, and was quite persistent about it, but I told him no, because I had homework to do [also I look like a monster and desperately need a shower].  He called again at 2:00 am and for whatever reason that time I thought it was a good idea to go over there.  He was wasted, and I helped him to bed.  He kept asking what was wrong with my face, and then proceeded to lecture me about drinking.  Yep, he lectured me.

 

I had to leave early on Tuesday, but told him to get a hold of me in the evening.  I wanted to see him again when I got out of class.  He had started drinking long before then.  By 9:30, he needed me to pick him up and take him home.  On the short walk from the bar to my car, he threatened to fight a cop and tried to start shit with three old men who were minding their own business.

 

At his house, he yelled about how much he hates his life, and that he used to be a professional athlete, did I know that?? (absolutely not true), and why was my face so fucked up?   "I might be drunk, but at least I never fucked up my face!" I couldn’t handle it, so I went home.  I told him to call me tomorrow, we can talk then.  He said, "I probably won't."

 

~Today, I’m trying to be productive, but waves of depression keep rolling in with everything I do.  Depression never really goes away, you know?  It just lays dormant for a while, long enough to allow you to believe that you’re going to be OK.  I’m trying to look for jobs, update my resume, figure out my financial aid, make a grocery list, but I’m just feeling overwhelmed and incompetent and lonely and all I want to do is cry.

 

This is all just one big pointless story.  A metaphor for my life.

What Kind of F*ckery is This?

I have like, 3 or 4 other blog posts I’m working on, but I felt it necessary to acknowledge the shit show of the century (in case you’ve been blissfully oblivious to the severity of the situation at hand, Donald Mother-Fucking Trump was elected president of the US last week, and the whole world is going mad).  Also, I spent most of post-election day naked in someone else’s bed, and that seemed post-worthy in and of itself.

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The 2016 presidential election is finally over.  No matter what your political standpoint, we’ve all been waiting for this day; for the fucking political campaign ads to stop, for the bickering, the arguing, the name-calling, the stupidity and the madness to end.  For some of us, however, it feels as though the madness has just begun: The United States of America has elected Donald Trump as president of the nation.  What in the actual fuck? 

 

Seriously though, what the fuck? 

 

I mean, WHAT. THE. FUCK.

 

I voted last week Tuesday, like any self-appreciating citizen would do.  And then I went to class, relieved that, for three hours, I would not be subject to any political posts on Facebook, that I would not have access to the polling data as it came through.  But it was still in the back of my mind, that, while discussing Professional Ethics in the Helping Professions, voting was still ongoing; some states were beginning to close their polls, and information about which candidate was leading in which state was trending.  But I didn’t want to think about it, even though it came up in conversation during break, and again at the end of class.  Luckily, I had solidified plans with a friend to grab drinks and could avoid the noise for a bit longer. 

 

However, while the company was brilliant and the drinks were fantastic, discussion of the election inevitably emerged, and it wasn’t looking good for us dirty liberals.  Eventually, three of the four girls I was with left, and I realized that I did not, under any circumstances, want to go home and sit there, watching the madness unfurl.  And while I love Scott, I was not in the mood to go home and have an intellectual conversation regarding the plight of the nation.  No, this night was meant for drinking. 

 

As we were leaving the bar, I told the friend I was with that I wasn’t ready to go home, that I wasn’t ready to face reality.  She would have stayed to hang out, but had to get up early and take on real responsibility, like most folks do.  “I need friends in the restaurant industry, who stay out late and don’t have to get up early!”  Then I mentioned the Alcoholic, and that maybe I could message him.  She encouraged me to do so, and I did.  Shit. This is the sort of logic that can only come from a couple of strong Manhattans. 

 

He invited me over, so I picked up a couple of bottles of wine and headed to his place.  He was drunk as shit and high as a kite when I got there, but despite that, it was good to see him.  I hadn’t seen him since we broke up back in April, and hadn’t even talked to him in several months, so we had a lot to catch up on.  He told me the same story five times in my first 20 minutes there ("Did you know I went to San Francisco?  You were supposed to come with me.").  Still, I liked the comfort of being with someone familiar.  Standing in his kitchen (well, I was standing, he was wavering), he smiled and said it was good to see me.  Then burst out with, “God DAMN, you’re sexy!”    

He never asked why I had contacted him, he just went with it.  Probably he was just as lonely as I, and savored being in the company of someone who gave a shit.  He mostly talked about himself, but I didn’t care.  He bugged me to pull up the election stats, and at that point (maybe 12:00, 1:00 in the morning) it was really not looking good.  We were both rooting for Hillary, for better or for worse. He kept demanding that I refresh the page, like somehow that was going to change the reality of the situation. 

 

Despite the political talk, and his drunkenness, we managed to reignite our spark.  I know he was inebriated, and probably would have fucked anything that walked into his apartment, but I was flattered that he was still attracted to me.  He could barely stand up straight, but kissed me and told me I was beautiful and that he had missed me.  And I fell for it.  What can I say?  I’m a hopeless sap.  We drank a bottle and a half of the wine and eventually made it to bed. 

 

And then I woke up Wednesday morning, to a text from a friend that simply said “No.”  The Alcoholic woke up also, and demanded that I check the news.  There it was: Trump won- his big, fat, ugly, smug face taunting me as I read the headline.  I was in shock, disbelief that this was real life.  The Alcoholic kept yelling “Fuck!” and we both just looked at each other, helpless and hopeless and pissed right the fuck off.  How???  Why?  How???  We were both upset, but what could we do?   Instead of accepting reality, we went back to sleep.  And then fucked.  And drank more wine.  And fucked again.  And avoided dealing with the world, or any real responsibility, until he had to work at 5:00. 

 

After dropping him off at work, I drove home to clean up and then ran to the store to buy groceries.  Cooking puts me in my “happy place,” so I intended to lose myself in my own culinary bliss for the evening.  I still hadn’t processed anything- the election results, hooking up with the Alcoholic.  I couldn’t.  Nothing made sense at this point. 

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So now, for the past week, I’ve been trying to piece things together.  Every day, the news is more and more grim; learning about all of the hate-fueled aggressions being acted out across the country, and hearing that Trump intends to fill his office with some of the most despicable human beings in the country have left me in a perpetual state of despair.  I want to do something to change what is happening in the world around me, but I don’t know what to do and I don’t know where to start.  I had thought that, once the election was over, we could go back to being a country of civilized individuals and come together, as a nation, to repair the damage done over the past few months.  But instead, I fear for everyone I love; for my parents, who may not get the opportunity to enjoy their retirement; for my lesbian, black, disabled friends, that they’re being bullied, now that hate has become the norm; for my sister and other empathizers who have been feeling completely and utterly broken for the past 10 days.

 

On top of all of this, I’m dealing with my own personal issues regarding the Alcoholic.  Over the past year, he crossed my mind frequently, and several times I had contemplated texting him just to see what’s up.  But I always stopped myself from doing so, because that would just be plain dumb.  I don’t need him or his drama or his drunkenness in my life.  But… maybe I WANT it!  I didn’t really realize how much I missed him until he was standing (or wobbling) in front of me.  Spending the day with him last week, it was comfortable to talk with him, kiss him, call him “baby” like I did when we were together.  I never said that I wanted to get back together with him- in fact, it really wasn't discussed.  When he was drunk, he told me that he didn’t want to rush into anything, but then when he was sober, he asked if I was going to marry him and have his brown babies.  So… I got nothing.  But good god, he’s gorgeous.  And lost.  And you know how I’m a sucker for the broken ones.

 

Ultimately, I’m looking for someone who just gets me.  Maybe that’s the Alcoholic, maybe it’s not.  But there’s some kind of connection there, I can’t deny.  And the fact that he was there with me to experience the shock and horror of the election results makes me feel like we have even more of a bond.  The significant people in my life (my sister and Scott) have told me to forget about him, that it was a booty call and nothing else.  While my head agrees, my emotions tell me otherwise.  However, while we’ve texted here and there, I haven’t seen him since last Wednesday.  So maybe it worked itself out and I’m fretting over a non-issue.

 

Regarding the fate of the country, I’m trying to keep a sort of naïve optimism about the whole situation.  It’s like we’ve been given a medical diagnosis:  “The bad news: it’s cancer.  The good news: it’s treatable, and will likely be gone in four years.”  But the initial shock, I have cancer, is distressing.  And the “healing” process is going to be slow and painful, and we’re going to all have to pitch in and medicate ourselves with kindness, uplift one another, and support the good guys, and peacefully protest the bad guys, and donate money and time to causes that are dear to us, and love one another because we all deserve to be treated with compassion. 

 

You guys, the bottom line is, we’re not going to die.  That’s one thing I feel pretty confident about.