Do you watch teen dramas? There’s just something about them that I can’t resist. They’re corny as fuck, emotional, and generally unrealistic. Actually, they’re always unrealistic. These teens are running around doing shit you never would’ve done. Hell, you wouldn’t have the balls to do that shit now as an adult.
It’s been a little over a year since the pandemic was announced. Around March 13th, the world started panicking over this virus.
Let’s set the scene, make it a little intimate. I’m at home, my mom’s home, and to a certain degree, my home. Mostly her home – I’m a temporary resident, by choice, or so I say.
I’m a fan of the Irish exit. Grammarly tells me this term is outdated, so I’ll rename it as the vero exit. It’s my preferred method of exiting most locations and events, particularly parties and gatherings. The vero exit is leaving without saying goodbye. It’s really not that necessary to say goodbye.
I always underestimate the satisfaction that alone-time can bring me. I forget how much I appreciate being alone until I take the time to do so. I work for, and with other people, I take classes with other people, and I live with other people. I don’t have much time to be alone.
It’s incredible how a mundane activity can carry so much weight and significance. Much like Eve from the garden of Eden, one of my issues can be directly traced back to picking fruit.
Stability has always been out of reach. I have moved to a new home more times than I’ve celebrated my birthday; I am more familiar with change than permanence. I feel at home when I’m on the road, and at peace when everything I know is being replaced.
After graduating high school, I flew directly to NYC. I didn’t know a single soul, so I spent most of my days commuting to Union Square and walking around. This was back in the day when I read frequently for pleasure, or as many would call it the “pre-college era.” College really takes the life out of you like that – or maybe it was just the Ivy experience.
I hate that question, and I know it’s selfish. How dare people ask about my well-being? It’s also hypocritical because I ask it all the time. It’s comforting to ask happy people and hear a relatively normal answer. The thing is, if you’re depressed, that question sets you up for failure no matter how you answer. Here are the options.
April, 2018. I’m walking into Staples to print out some concert tickets in Union Square. I was waiting for my friend to join me, but she’s always running a little late – it’s all good. Staples was being mad slow anyway.