Everything sucks and I'm trying hard not to die
20-something, all alone still, etc.
I’m in a wretched crestfallen state that has a way of making it seem like everything is crumbling and I may be better off resting at the bottom of the ocean.
This started, as many failures in my life do, with the pretense of love.
I went on my first date in a long time with a guy who had salmon-pink hair. I showed him my favorite places (two indie bookstores and one matcha spot), but things got kinda tense when I said, albeit very awkwardly, that I didn’t want to kiss him. I did want to, actually, but I guess it all happened too fast and my brain crashed. He was angry. He'll never speak to me again.
I’ve been insanely paranoid because of late nights spent reading up on the Idaho murders, and there isn’t even much more to read since the perp won’t talk, but man, he’s terrifying to look at.
Sometimes when I want to connect with people, something gets in the way that’s somehow stronger than my desire… and it’s like the more I want it the worse it is. I texted salmon-haired guy this in a desperate attempt to explain myself. But it didn’t matter, it never mattered. I thought so hard about this response, labored over it, apologized, hoped that it would be sufficient enough and none of it mattered, because he’s ghosting me. The message sits on “delivered”, and that’s that.
I can’t stop saying “anonymous” when I mean "miscellaneous", which I only think is cute when other people do it. My mum went through a short phase earlier this year where she regularly said “insequential” when she clearly meant "inconsequential", which I quietly found endearing. It’s horribly stupid when I do it.
I’ve come to the conclusion that salmon-haired guy was ultimately upset that I didn’t go back to his place, like he offered. I kinda wanted to, but I was nervous. And looking back, I mean, how tacky and gauche of him, no? Even my previous date knew better than to expect it after one outing. I mean, come on, right?
And car trouble. Oh, of course! Just when everything else is going to shit, here comes some car troubles… I already had to get my bumper fixed and battery replaced at two different shops. The former had two orange cats (one of which was particularly affectionate and made me get over my fear of felines, even if only temporarily), the latter was in an odd part of town where the repair guy kept calling me “chiqiuta”. I liked it, though I didn’t like that relentless sun beating on the both of us.
And God, this heat! “It feels like the sun has a gun pointed at me,” the salmon-haired guy said as we walked from the matcha spot to a bookstore. I was too exhausted to edit his statement, but now I can. The sun is the gun, genius.
Earlier in the date, he told me that he hosted community dinners, sorta like a supper club, and that I was invited. I think it goes without saying that my invite has been rescinded. But like, what the hell, right? We both agreed that we had a fun time before things got terribly awkward towards the end (my bad), so what gives? Are the parties only for girls and guys he’s fucked? Am I dumb and “party” has just been a thin euphemism for “orgy” this whole time?
What an ass. Oh, but I really liked him! I love when people are a bit quirky like he was. Tears threatened to fall as I lay in bed that night and thought to myself: “How come even other weird people don’t like me? What am I doing wrong?”
I’m getting a full 8 hours of sleep now, which is great, but this is mainly because I force myself to go to bed just after nightfall. I know my depressing thoughts increase immensely at night, and I like myself enough to at least spare me from those. I hit the hay at 9:30 last night. 9:30! I used to go to bed at like, 1:00 am… which also wasn’t good for me but still.
I even let salmon-haired guy wear my beloved grandmother’s sunglasses! Why! Why did I do that?
Ugh, and I bet he doesn’t even know how significant they are to me, even though I told him about the fond memories I have of her wearing them since I was a girl. And earlier in the date I’d told him that she basically raised me, that I spoke Spanish with her, that I’m really a grandma’s girl, that even though it’s been over a year it hurts, that I miss her terribly, that I still remember the way my mom collapsed and wailed when she came home, that I love Los Angeles but everything there reminds me of her and I don’t know if I could ever bear it, living there, even though I used to dream of it, one of the big perks being that I could visit her frequently, which is no longer possible in any way, shape or form.
I didn’t actually tell him all of that, just the first few things, but it’s impossible for my brain not to spiral when I think of her.
An older man at my job who donned a MAGA hat flirted with me. Called me “gorgeous” like it was my name. Fuck my life.
The salmon-haired guy let me pick the song for the drive back. I told him that I’ve been really into 2010’s SoundCloud hits, to which he replied “That’s pretty niche”. No it’s not. I requested YNW Melly’s “Murder on My Mind”. I want to say that the part where Melly wickedly snickers happened right as things were turning sour, but that would’ve been a little too perfect.
In the spirit of not letting my depressing thoughts get to me, I’ve been forcing myself to go out every evening after work. On Monday, the peak of my sickness, I was at the library. On Tuesday, I sat in an uncomfortable stool at some kinda quaint lounge where a “listening party” was being hosted. On Wednesday, back to the bookshop where salmon-haired guy and I met.
It felt important, somehow, to return as soon as possible. To cleanse the space by walking among the shelves alone, a way of remembering the things I love most in the world. The books, the people, the hum of ambient chatter and quiet laughter. I settled into a nook and read for a long time.
I park like a dickhead. I don’t know why, it’s just hard for me. But while observing my God-awful park job at the bookstore, a woman complimented my outfit. I never really believed the term “drunk in love” until I saw her. She was dressed plainly but looked dreamy, eyes twinkling as she held the hand of her lover, who led her gently uphill. Short and in an oversized flowy white t-shirt, walking as though she may fall into her partner's arms at any moment, she looked like a baby angel. Of course, she might’ve actually been drunk, but still. I was touched.
I imagine my name in the sea of salmon-haired guy’s digital phone book: Abigail, Addison, Amber, Ariel, Ava, Ayana… My name hardly stands out. Yet somehow, the mental image of all the other A-named women is comforting.
The library is huge, and I like to walk up to the highest floor. Right in front of a floor-to-ceiling window, there are two red chairs shaped like tops that are clearly meant for spinning. I’d noticed them before, but didn’t get to use them until Monday. I sat on one and started slowly, but I couldn’t help myself, and soon I spun rapidly on the thing. It felt like flying. It actually made me forget about my sadness. I loved to stretch my long bare legs out towards the sky when it tilted backwards, I loved the look of my curly hair bathed in glowing sunlight casting a beautiful shadow on the ground. I imagined that it was long enough to touch the floor and maybe it is.
The salmon-haired guy starts his smarty pants big boy job soon. He wants to spend his final free summer fucking bitches, and I guess I’m not bitches. Oh well.
All this makes me wonder: if this is how I act after one crush, what would a serious heartbreak do to me? This is why I must never fall in love!
Maybe the fact that I’m permanently banned from the dating app Hinge is secretly a blessing. Yeah, apparently you can’t tell guys they have a gay accent anymore, even if it’s really funny and true. It’s against their “terms of service”. Oh, whatever.
I’ve returned to the library. I feel like I didn’t fully appreciate the tilty chairs before, when I was still so deeply forlorn that it loomed large over me even as I swung deliriously. Like last time, they’re empty and beckoning. I drop everything and get on. My favorite thing, I realize, is to hang upside down like a bat. I love the view of the city like this. I’m right at the very edge, overlooking the exact point where downtown ends. There’s the river, the bikers, the cars, the grass above and sky below. It’s precious. Chief Keef’s “Love Sosa” plays as I go for another spin. It’s almost closing time, so nearly everyone is gone. I boisterously twist and turn and don’t care if I fall. It’s ok if I do, but I know I won’t.
