I like you too much for that.

New Year’s Boy and I broke up 6 months to the day, which is exactly a week ago today (from when I began to draft). I haven’t told most of my friends. We still have tickets to see Oppenheimer and Barbie together release weekend.

I knew we had been different. He knew I knew. I thought we had more time.

No more ease, and now I’m sad. I told him I’m sad. He’s sad too. I let myself have one big day of crying. I called out of work and I took a bath at 8 AM. I watched (500) Days of Summer. I laid in bed. I ate apricots.

Today, I sat in Echo Lake Park, getting a sunburn, and watching the ducks climb over the ropes. Up and over. I cried as my friends talked about makeup, thinking about how we had a really good date there earlier this year.

I think about how I’m about to move and have a housewarming party. I think about how he’ll be invited because he’s part of a larger group and I don’t feel like being dramatic, but I’ll have to stay away. I’ll have to watch him talk to other people. I’ll have to watch him leave our job. How there’ll be a day where we’ll see each other for the last time and not know.

I think about how I used to want to have a New Year’s Eve wedding (in general), and now that feels useless. I think about how I want to see his name appear in my notifications, but how I can’t invest anymore of my emotions into him. I think about how I was holding my phone yesterday and I don’t know how, but it called him. He answered so casually, like nothing had changed. I miss him, but what’s the point.

I think about loving him, and I think that it’s not real because I never thought the words aloud.

I think about how I said to him last week that he only drinks with his other friends. Last night he had drinks with our other friends. I think about all the things I did that could have exacerbated the timeline, but also about how I can’t change anything.

I think about immortalizing our conversations, the small details of our relationship, in writing, but I know they’re too impactful and too intimate for me to recount them accurately. I think about how those details will be lost to time and I will be sad when I realize I can no longer remember them.

I think about how I’m sad for him. I wish I hadn’t earlier on made jokes about “being more of a person.”

When we spoke the next day he said he had been concerned about me. I told him that negates the point.

I had my one big day of crying though.

I have been alone and happy, I have built my friendships, and I will be okay.

I think about him now, but someday he will be someone I watch on screen. I will be so happy for him if he’s happy, but right now, he feels pressures that I don’t.

It’s just something that didn’t work out.

Baby Toes

Nothing is of child’s dream. Thru the night, rotating doors, unmoored.

Instead, I am God knows where (Los Angeles), in an office with no windows, appeasing bitter adults–baby toes rubbed raw. I am tethered to nothingness. I can see where I want to go, but I’m bogged down by the mud of life. Always a new wave pushing my shoreline back. My latest excuse: a mild concussion.

My boss asked me why I was still working, but she also is unaware of the cost of housing, of living, in God knows where. Earnestly, she asked, “How do you afford that?” as the scheduling manager for 95 people. As the manager who relieves her personal feelings with pettiness.

I haven’t seen the boy outside of work in three weeks. I think it’s just circumstantial, but it makes me feel like I am more interested in him than I am worth to him. I would rather go sleepless, and he would rather attain routine.

I have started getting overwhelmed at concerts, rushing out of tight, central views for the relief of fresh air. I don’t feel shows when I’m in the back. What is the point if I can’t feel it?

That’s how I got a concussion.

I think I’m already on the middle ground, and I don’t want to be here. Middle ground is stagnation, and politically, I believe in progress even if there’s error on the path.

Rolling the Magic Eight Ball on “No” / The Happiest Place on Earth

On Friday, at the end of a phone call with my mom, she departed saying I need to find a new job because my current job is not good for me. I thought: These people are not good for me. It rang again and again as I sat around waiting to, and then did, attend a party with them.

Our office environment encourages some of my worst traits, and it causes me to swallow my thoughts and feelings and opinions whole. I tell myself it is okay because sometimes that is the toll of wearing a professional face. Sometimes, that is just an excuse I am affording my coworkers.

A month ago, my boss told me she respects how I carry myself not only in the workplace, but further too, in life.

On Saturday, I showed up to work at 8 AM. It doesn’t really matter how it happened, but just past noon, over a twelve-minute phone call, most of those fronts dissolved.

A conversation (paraphrased, and with interjections):

“This isn’t only about Disney. This is something that has been going on for months, where you routinely exclude me. It doesn’t matter who made the plans. I have been in multiple conversations, including one as late as last week, about going to Disney. And even then, it would have been so easy for you to say ‘Hey, we’re going to Disney if anyone else wants to come.’” / “Well, I brought that up, but X wanted to keep it small to like 4 or 5 people.” (4 or 5 people is not small. That is half of our group chat.)

“I try to advocate for you.” / “But I don’t want friends I have to be advocated for to.”

“Do you want to talk about this with the whole group?” / “No. I was never going to have this conversation anyway. The only reason this is happening is because I accidentally texted you. I can’t make anyone be my friend. I don’t want to make people be my friend. You guys choose each other again and again and again every time. I am not going to sit there and be told that’s not how it happened or have to go over every detail because I couldn’t at this point. Too many things have happened.” (Or alternatively, be told exactly what someone else thinks is so wrong with me. I have avoided this because we have always first been coworkers, and I am not trying to be a sore point at work. There is no scenario where I come out on top. There is nothing here that benefits me. I have been taking the path of least resistance for curtesy’s sake, but it has gone too far. I have to respect myself more than you respect me.)

“I want you to know that some of these people are your friends.” / “But not everyone is my friend, and not everyone wants to be my friend. And even the people who are my friends, they’re not good friends.”

“When I tell my friends outside of work how you treat me, they ask why I am even friends with you.”

“And I think I know more than you know I know. Like, you guys aren’t good at hiding anything.” (And if I know more than they realize, how much is there that I don’t know?)

“Of course, it’s more complicated than that.”

“I can’t be a part of this group anymore. Every time I think that it’s over, it’s not, and it makes me feel bad about myself at work. It makes me feel bad about myself outside of work.” (It’s not fair to me, and I shouldn’t have tolerated it for this long. I would never treat anyone I considered a friend, the way I have been treated.) / “I guess I live in a fantasy where I hope that all of my friends can be friends.” / “Well, that’s not possible.”

In summary, the general sentiment was they knew. They always knew, and I guess they hoped I didn’t realize or I didn’t feel hurt? As if I am not smart or observant enough to know. As if they were getting away with it. But they always knew, and now the one person at least, seems to feel terrible. I don’t feel bad that they feel terrible because they should. There’s even more to it that is not glossy enough to type out in unending detail, but I hope they feel happy on the day I cover their shift so that they can go to this amusement park with a small, intimate group of people. I know the others are going to be, if they haven’t already, informed, and I expect no acknowledgment. I don’t think they live in a world where they think they’ve done anything wrong. That’s their prerogative.

I have always had other friends. I have always had other friends who don’t put me in this position, or if they have, it doesn’t happen time after time repeatedly and endlessly. If they have, I don’t stay friends with them this long. I have always had other friends, so I cannot be this big of a problem. Even though it feels like it, I am not some intolerable person who needs to deeply reflect on who I am. I’ve known I don’t respect them for a while. I’ve known I wouldn’t maintain these relationships after I left this workplace for a while. I didn’t say anything untrue, or that I will regret.

We are adults, and I wasn’t asking for much. I was asking people who claimed to be my friend, to be my friend.

Also, among the untucked threads in my life right now (because my life is more complicated than I have ever confided in them), my Aunt died this Sunday. I woke up to a follow-up apology text from the person on the phone call, and I woke up to a text from my mother saying my Aunt had died overnight. And I can’t fly home for the funeral, and I won’t be responding to the apology paragraph that backtracks and most likely has outside input. So truly, I feel these people I am referring to, are petty bitches who need to get over themselves.

just one of those things

Tonight, I played Lisa in a second draft reading of a friend of a friend’s play. I liked the opportunity for a minor performance. I want to think I did a good job.

I was annoyed I had to pick up a friend beforehand. I was annoyed the role fell to me. I wanted a moment of peace after work. I changed the music I was playing in the car because I was bitter they would enjoy it.

I don’t always trust my own judgment.

After the reading and after the talkback, I told the boy I’ve been dating (who is a formally trained actor) that I feel like I have a hard time accessing emotions, and as consequence, my voice fell flat. He disagreed, but I don’t trust my own judgment enough to believe him. I don’t want to believe I am capable enough for his remarks to be true rather than placating. Later, I texted him that I thought the play was above average rather than mid, which is what I had expected. Maybe I should hope the same of myself.

But I felt small during the talkback. The friend I was annoyed to drive, added in what felt like ten points of input, among the others doing the same, before anyone listened to my interruption. Neon flashed: they think they’re smarter than me. My thoughts had already jumped ahead. A late discovery in the conversation was something I had considered ten minutes before, and still, it hummed. Still, do I have anything valuable enough to say? My skin wanted to run.

I want others to think I’m smart, and often I feel they go out of their way to situate the laugh track as a spotlight. Pity, she thought she had a chance. Even at work, my rewards go unacknowledged. Glossed over because they’re expected and routine. A reoccurring problem, season to season.

So, I made myself dense. Less emotive. Less of a poet. I write sparsely, but I cry easily. No longer an English teacher. Fuck instincts. Fuck fucking your instincts. I want everything overly.

I used to say my wants were eating me alive. They’re pretty dull right now.

Where can I take them to be sharpened? I want to drive. I want to drive fast.

Walking out tonight, the fun flirt and I walked to our cars together. He had just revealed he has a new girlfriend. He asked about the actor. “You guys hang out, right?” He complimented us both.

He’s the second member of their group chat to ask me for clarification. After the first, I asked a third if I was ever a topic at Boy’s Night. Yes.

The boys are digging.

I agreed we’re dating, but clarified, as always, we haven’t yet approached the table, prepared for formal talks. I wonder if word is relayed, and he thinks I am uncomfortable with commitment. Really, I am uncomfortable assuming commitment. I am comfortable with him, but I can’t outgrow my anxiety. I don’t even know if it’s anxiety or just the truth. My gut is an unreliable narrator, but most days I believe we are both content in the easiness of it all.

I also used to say all I wanted was ease. The dream of ease was everpresent, and now that it’s arrived, I choose to take it as is. That seems to me the philosophy of ease.

I hope everyone made it home safe.

gossipmonger

He’s too kind for me. He’s too kind to me. He’s too much better at expressing himself, and I’m the one who speaks all the time. I speak and poke and push and dig. He wasn’t even mad at me. He so kindly and considerately asked me to stop informing him of all the information I gather and cluster at work, and I still felt sad. I wasn’t mad at him either. I was upset with myself. I have never heard him sound so angry before. He would say angry is not the right word.

I probably like him too much. I am too good at being selfish.

Also, I woke up with my period a week early today.

silly me, getting lost

I’ve been dating this boy since January. Everybody keeps asking for official notice. I tell everyone that it’s easy and I’m happy with it. I don’t see the need to rush defining our relationship.

I thought about it, but I wasn’t lying—all the same.

Earlier, my roommate told me I was glowing. Yesterday, I asked to pop one of his pimples. He’s twice tried to pick my nose. I hung up ten minutes ago and my cheeks stretch into dried salt. I think I just forced him to have a conversation about feelings, and he wasn’t for it.

Maybe I was too in my head. Maybe we couldn’t meet in the middle. I can’t tell.

He switched to Facetime and found me crying out of frustration. Not immediately, but his interest, his attention, his voice dulled soon after. He said he didn’t hear it. He’s an actor. He understands delivery.

I left the call and sobbed. Big sad.

Do I call him back? Do I let it sit? Do I take him at face value.

I think I need to know now.

/

I called him. So is everything. If I take him at face value, I am in my head right now–caught in the force of my own wake.

He promises.

Open Secret

Typing in the dark. Romance.

I starve myself as punishment. Lately, I have been starving myself for pleasure. I told him I don’t believe in telling boys I like my insecurities after he woke up in my bed. I made him play Dutch Blitz hours before, in the early hours of the morning. He said he’d wait for me after work on Tuesday.

It is easier with him. Multiple friends have told me, in other words, how good he is. I am whispering and retracting, “he’s too good for me.” My happiness is genuine and my anxiety is contained. I think my friends can notice, and they believe it too.

The last boy I dated forced nonexistence onto me, and here, we haven’t delicately discussed our nature or decided on any terms. This time I don’t care. As I said, it’s easier with him.

I was starving myself for pleasure, but now only half the effort. A coworker told me I am the example of confidence. I told her, I fake it to make it. The more I pretend to not care so he doesn’t notice, the less I care. I have lived that philosophy for years, but I feel I need to hold it dear now.

Everybody always says it’s a change, but I only feel like less of a fraud.

Bare, I hope I haven’t jinxed it.

Play the game!

It’s January 2, and I have yet to print more than addendums to my New Years’ zine. I think about it every day. Minute digital edits. An expanding and shrinking recipient list. Social politics.

In four days, it will be one year since I first landed in LA. I chose landed over moved to. I try not to think about my love for New York. LA was inevitable. LA holds a smaller hand in my heart, but I made the right decision. I made the harder decision.

The holidays came and went, and I always had an invite. All the things I feel about myself–all the persistent rejection from childhood. All the non-problem problems. All the problems that are problems, but I don’t feel.

I kissed someone on New Years’. I really like him. I am not taking questions or providing comments at this time.

Joyeux anniversaire!

total exhaustion in Paris / American just like before

Wonderfully Creative

I joke about bad luck, but often, I consider that I am the bad person. What goes around comes around, and what I say and do returns back to me. I have never been sickly sweet, but I used to be more accommodating. The meaner I get, even if marginally, the easier my life becomes.

I asked why life doesn’t change when I do. Maybe I don’t change meaningfully.

At some point in high school, I decided to be more honest. I decided I wouldn’t lie about myself for other people’s comfort. The truth will set us free. Pleasantries disappoint, and no stance is worse than the wrong stance. My mom tells me to lower down, and I tell her everyone deserves consequences. The cowardly lion and the brave.

Sometimes when I’m talking, as I’m talking,, I think, “How would I like if someone spoke about me the like this?” I try to reason, “There’s no avoiding it.” People like who they like. Attraction charts the course. Fate falls as it should. If it’s meant to be, it will be.

Obviously, fate isn’t entirely out of your hands. You choose how to be, at least how to behave, and measure reactions. I don’t hold my cards close, and I know it comes back to haunt me. I feel the paranoia. I chase intimacy by spreading thinly.

Yesterday, I threw a birthday dinner. “Turning A24.” Today, I am sick; waiting for test results.

The hostess at the restaurant did not like us, and did not like me. I think they did not appreciate the theme. I asked everyone to commit, and so I committed. What is there to life if not fun? They can be righteous, but I reject judgment of harmless fun.

At dinner, as always, I was loud and I gossiped. I HEART GOSSIP. I could see one of my friends die inside. We do not worship all the same principles. My friends sang to me (and I felt loved), but I don’t know if everyone liked each other. My mom chose other words but said I told you so.

Sometimes I say something and feel the fingers pointing back at me. I feel a siren going off in the listener’s head. Hypocrite! Hypocrite! Hypocrite!

Just know, whatever you think of me, I already believe of myself. A few summers ago, I couldn’t stop repeating, “My wants are eating me alive.” Although conceived under a separate trial of circumstances, the statement is likely true. My wants eat me alive. My impulses cannibalize my wants.

Sometimes I am the bad person. It feels like I’m sick just to prove it.

Everything Everywhere All At Once

I am an oasis. Life draws to me.

Last week, I reduced and screamed at my mom. She knows the word trigger, but not when it applies to me. I sobbed, “I just wanted to be sad and talk to my mom.” I cried, asking why the same events happen to me over and over again. I tried to say, I try to change so why doesn’t life?

My friends call me, and I always have something to say. I start every call by asking how they are first because I know the conversation will revert to my unending hurt and anger and annoyances. This week a friend reaffirmed she calls because she wants to hear about my life. I have a deep fear I don’t know any of my friends as well as they know me. I also have a deep fear they do not know me at all.

I can’t sleep. I’ve been starving myself for two weeks. A storm cloud has rolled out, and I am out to sea. My body holds itself at swordpoint, and I swallow Trader Joe’s Ginger Shots like a weekly multivitamin. I don’t like ginger so my chaser is a children’s dose of strawberry yogurt.

I have never forgotten when a boy labeled me “the fun one.” I am an oasis, but an oasis is a stagnant mirage. I am fun, but mother fate holds the medium at arm’s length. Tonight I read, “Only have one drink on a date because otherwise, you’ll forget if you like him or if you’re just fun.” I could have used that advice years ago, if not two weeks ago.

They have no idea, and I will never see the land.

The same boy who labeled me “the fun one” (versus “the smart one”) once looked me in the eye and asked, “Why do you assume you’re an imposition?” The people who hurt you are often the people who restored you.

Lisa Frank & Zodiacs

I need to leave for a concert in twenty minutes. Doors open in twenty minutes. Usually, I would be early in line. Today, I want to melt into the back of the crowd. I don’t care where I am as long as I can see.

I would always rather be told something, and it hurt, than not be told at all. I guess that’s what happened when I was uninvited. I was told rather than suffer the awkwardness. The unwanted tension. I wasn’t mad at the messenger, I am mad at the aftermath. No one has been honest with me since. Everything is ignored or deflected or diffused or omitted. I hate lies by omission.

Omission is the greatest sin. It is deceitful and underhanded and insidious. The liar tells their gut they are absolved. Why did they need to know?

I thought you knew loyalty was honesty. Allegiance, in my law, is honesty. Unfortunately, you have to choose to be honest and choose your allegiances.

I asked my mom, when do I grow out of this?

Doors are open at the concert now. I think mine are closed.

Don't Think Twice

I saw the fun flirt at a Halloween party last weekend. It was his birthday. He’s only three weeks shy of being a full year younger than me.

When I first saw him at the top of the stairs, I jokingly asked if it was him. He called me the shortest version of my name even though I’ve always asked him not to. I’ve accepted my fate. I tried to ask him about his new job. He mentioned he has a comedy show next month. A friend of a friend showed interest, and later in the night, I shot him with Cupid’s Nerf dart while they were talking. It didn’t work. I don’t think he knew what it was.

We met again walking in opposite directions up and down the stairs. He put his arm around my shoulder and told me to come with him. Two shots, one glass of wine, one of soju, and two mixed drinks, one of which the hosting friend added additional liquor to later on, a group of us found ourselves in the hosting friend’s bedroom. (There was also a bag of wine passed around after that.)

I sat against the bookcase; my back felt it the next day. Fun flirt and a mutual friend sat on the bed. Questions filtered, and the conversation veered toward porn. I stuck up for women.

“I’ve never seen you like this.” / “You don’t know me that well.”

When I asked about the friend of a friend he explained he had a date tomorrow, and it wasn’t right when he knew he was seeing another girl. Plus, something along the lines of, “I’ve decided to not pursue things that are not worthwhile.”

At 5 am, the three of us walked home together. They both live in the neighborhood, and I would call a car from one of theirs. I can’t believe we walked that many blocks in Hollywood with the moon above, and when it was just the fun flirt and I, I said so. Not directly related, but he essentially told me he always thought I was uptight when we worked together, and I needed to “be laid for 45 minutes.” When I called the car a block from his apartment he asked, “If you needed to sleep with ten people to save the world could you?” I said yes and then amended to 7/10. He said the same. I stared at him, “You must know you’re a stereotypically attractive guy who is tall and funny and most women go for that. You must know that.” / “Are you saying I’m hot?” I stared at him and I know he knew. He started to say I was underselling myself as the car arrived, and trying not to care among several other deflections and principles, I stepped away to check the license plate. I heard him say “You’re beautiful.” before I said goodbye. What did he want from me anyway?

I texted him, once home, to thank him for waiting, but he never responded. And I felt beautiful afterward, but he didn’t say I was hot or sexy or attractive. He said I was beautiful, which feels like a way to say things I already think too much about myself. He could have told me to wait a moment or to stay, but I knew he had a date after the sun rose. I could say I think it mattered, but I don’t think he thinks about me.

And yet, there were butterflies in my gut all weekend. The fantasy world began. All too familiar.

I reject people and hope they come back. Daydreams and suffocation and underestimating.

He is just what I call him.

Paranoia, Tied to the Mast

There’s no good way to say anything. There’s no good way for us to communicate. No questions or protests, no one asked why I didn’t come. No one denied I am a backup. No one said anything to make it better. Even when I’ve tried to say it is not.

I guess I had been hopeful with blind trust. I guess no one cares to be uncomfortable.

“I don’t want to be invited like that, especially after what happened last weekend.” / “You know it wasn’t my event.”

“She didn’t speak to me for a week.” / Because she lost 20 Questions.

Then, I was invited again. Not scripted, but it could have been. A shadow hovers, a devil on the shoulder whispering, “what you do next will be your final play.” Jokes of friendship crossing a boundary with little proof of substance. Maybe that’s denial.

My fortune cookie today read: SEEK FRIENDSHIP AND YOU WILL FIND IT.

Update: The conversation was two sentences. “We need to drive together tonight because I have both of your tickets.” / “Okay.” The night after that, the day I wrote this, I went to the movies with two people, one involved. Dinner table conversation afterward was about bad friendships and abandoned friendships and boundaries and loss of trust. I didn’t contribute.

Nobody Asked Me If I Was Okay

I want to remove myself.

I guess I could have said something, but what would it have done? I rarely say anything. Usually, there’s no point. The outcome rarely changes, and if the outcome does not even waver, that’s worse. Why would I want to be the reason I feel worse? It’s so much easier to blame other people.

Tonight, I drove to and from a movie. Outside my friend’s apartment, after mentioning another get-together I have not been invited to, they said “Sorry about the other night.” They then explained that it was supposed to be a particular night, the implication of which is that I should have never been clued in, given the go-ahead at all. I don’t feel like that’s something you say to a friend.

I said we didn’t need to talk about it. Politely, I don’t want to talk about this.

I could have said, “Thanks. That actually really sucked.” or “Honestly, I don’t understand why that happened how it did. Am I not an equal friend?” or “I felt so rejected, and this is probably irreparable damage to our friendship.” I didn’t.

If I say anything, either I am forcing people to invite me somewhere they don’t want to, or I am going to hear harsh answers that will hurt me further.

So, I want to remove myself. I want to abdicate. I want to move on.

Silly Plights Part Two.

I imagine my friend asking to talk about last night. I imagine saying, “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not mad at you, as the messenger, but I felt rejected and I already deal with that a lot anyway. So, I don’t want to talk about it.” I don’t know what I imagine after that. She probably respects what I said and we move on, and I feel even more lonesome.

I know it doesn’t work like this, but sometimes I just want life to take my side. Always the monkey shoved off the bed. I could change and sometimes I do, but it is always the same outcome. Life is so cyclical, and people always perceive me the same. Projections of how people see me always return to the same. However I was slotted into life, it is inconvenient for everyone else. Unfortunately, that means it is inconvenient for me too. I am who I am, despite growing up.

Where I work, we are together all the time. We commiserate all the time. A lot of us are friends. A few months ago, I stepped back from someone after an incident where I felt they shrugged accountability. At the time, she was someone people were split about, and witnesses agreed with me. She’s had an upswing since. Ultimately, I do not want that taken from her, but why do I feel like that’s a double loss for me? Bad things happen to me, and I deal with them. I take it and I deal with it, but somehow my attitude does little to help. Sometimes it feels like throwing a tantrum would work better in the long run. Maybe I’m somewhere in the middle.

If the universe can’t take my side, can I at least see the ticker tape of my life? Is it me or is it them? I don’t want a palm reading. I want objectivity. I want objectivity, but I want to preserve delusion. Just not my own.

Silly Plights.

I left my apartment late with good news. I arrived at cabaret late and paid $5. My friends were supposed to pay too, but they didn’t. I watched one hour of a two and half hour cabaret when the friends I was standing with wanted to leave. I thought I was invited to meet them afterward, but when I pulled into the grocery store parking lot, my friend texted to say I should go home. It wasn’t to be mean.

So, I drove home and tried to be an adult and ignore my anxiety and rejection. I took a bath and wasted my brain on short-form content.

I just want to be with people who are my friends, and I don’t want to be anywhere I don’t feel welcome. I’ve been chasing for years, and every time I have it, I’m wrong. I am the plan B, the b-side, second best, last recruit. I don’t think it’s a story I tell myself.

I just looked up, even though I shouldn’t have, what music a ghost is listening to. We are listening to tracks off the same album. Somehow, we’ve aligned even with this distance.

Tonight, I did not share my good news. I forgot because of cabaret. I forgot because I tried not to cry on the way home. I found out ten minutes into my bath it was unnecessary, but unfortunately, these are not feelings you can take back. You can’t, and still, I have to swallow them.

Let it be like Advil.

Extreme Sports

I was in an accident last month. The predatory tow worker told me he was “shocked my airbag did not deploy.” My insurance lawyer told me the circumstances of the accident do not matter; I am at fault. I was making a “suicide squeeze.” Last month, in the immediate shock after the impact, I posted a picture of my detached bumper online with the text “officially back on the I Hate LA campaign.”

Last week I texted a friend I don’t trust asking if it would be potentially funny for my mostly annual Christmas card this year to parody the boastful year of accomplishments and travels cards that arrive annually without tact. My year of bad luck, but funny! They said yes.

The longer I have lived in Los Angeles, the worse my luck.

Knock on wood.

I’ve started wearing sunglasses while grocery shopping. I’ve started wearing sunglasses inside. I recognize the problem every time. I keep them on.

A coworker joked I am condescending and pretentious. I remembered an incident from my freshman year of high school when a classmate screamed at me in bio class. Earlier this year, I threw up on the street outside of a party, and months later, a friend told me it made her like me more.

The last time I wore sunglasses under fluorescent lighting, I hadn’t eaten all day. A few hours before, I learned the parts to repair my car are back-ordered, and then only ten minutes after is when my lawyer called. I was walking around Trader Joe’s thinking about how I was probably starving myself as punishment, and in a way, it felt good. Subconsciously, choosing extreme sports (lack of nutrients) as a consequence for extreme sports (driving in LA County).

When my lawyer called and told me his decision, I cried, and he told me he wasn’t trying to be mean.

Summers End

On the East Coast, citizens are living the last dregs of summer. I’m in Los Angeles. It’s just past Labor Day and after a week of extreme heat, it rained and the clouds have lingered. I was driving home and I knew it was over. I’m at the end the rollercoaster, whooshing up and up and thru and up, steadying after a quick decline.

It’s familiar to my years of summer camp. Nothing feels real until your trunk is packed and you’re on your way driving out. It’s not over till it’s over, and summer is over now. It doesn’t matter that the heat will continue or that the Autumnal Equinox is not for another twelve days. The safety lever is lifting.

Today was one of my coworker’s last day of work. He was the fun flirt, light crush of the summer. Another ode to overnight camp. Nothing was ever going to happen, but it was a soft thrill to get along.

He threw a party last night. He hugs everyone, and his hugs are disarming. At the end he thanked me for my help. I don’t know how I helped him. He told me to let him know I got home safe. I did even though I usually don’t follow thru on that request. The other week I followed him on Instagram. He didn’t follow me back. Today, right before I left work, I asked “Is this the last time I’m going to see you?” He said “Probably.” He hugged another girl, said they’d see each other soon, then hugged me and again thanked me for my help. He called me a name I actually go by, which has been a hard ask.

But I’m not trying to argue in my favor. Most of the time, I experience life overly literally, and if there ever was a time to blink and process the joke, this isn’t it. Summer is over. The friendship is likely over. Circling back will only ruin the moment. Everything changes, and it’s meant to.