I really, really want to write this optimistic post about how I know the worst is over, how I marched through my admittedly #firstworldproblems drama and returned, triumphantly, to the world of fully-functioning adults. But I can’t. I’ve got knife scars on the side of my leg and a fresh pack of cigarettes on my bedside table that prove otherwise.
I don’t mean to be dramatic. Just how things turned out.
Part of the problem is that I’ve decided to stop coping, right? Like, walk away from the blog, stop doing yoga, and just try to immerse myself in the people around me. That’s a side effect of being obsessively existential; whenever you are not performing a task that must absolutely, positively, be done alone–working and sleeping–all you want to do is attach yourself to others. Get drinks with your friends. Snuggle with your lover. See how the family is doing. Go to a techno show. All those solitary activities ceased to hold any value. Until I got to this point again, of course. Knife marks that you have to look at every day on your skin are a damn good indicator that some time in front of a computer or on a yoga mat, isolated from others but truly taking care of myself, might be worth the investment. So here’s a quick post, but I’m about to hit up the bar with a friend, one of my favorite bars, in fact. It’s a little place that serves great tequila and tacos and crawls with Detroit hipsters. And I’m going there because I’m not quite on the road to recovery yet, and I’d really like to bullshit with someone over some good tequila.
I’ll grab a stool at the front of my favorite little bar and, like every time I sit there, I’ll have flashbacks to an early Sunday morning when I was one of only three people in the whole establishment, flanked on my left and right by my former best friend and current better half, respectively. I remember the intense brightness of the Sun, and wanting to turn it down with a dial somewhow. I wasn’t doing well, out for breakfast cocktails maybe a whole twelve hours after I decided to leave (Ex) Boyfriend. The two most influential men in my life at the time decided that alcohol was the answer to my woes, so we trekked down the road and ordered some tequila. I don’t think I uttered more than ten words that morning. I was single, and I was emotionally wrecked, and they were the only good company I thought I had left in Michigan. I guess I should have seen it coming, but on that foggy-eyed morning, I couldn’t believe that within a few weeks everything had to change. That the gravity of the two previous years’ worth of emotional bonds would cause my friendships to crash into each other and nearly fall completely apart. That I almost wouldn’t make it.
Yeah, going to this bar is kind of a big deal for me. I’m surprised I ever do it anymore. The drinks are just…really good, okay?