Dip
It’s always when someone asks that you realize you do not know who you are. At least I apparently don’t. What do I do? What do I like? Who am I? Who do I want to be? I know nothing. But the thing is I do. The days I spend awake are not nothing. But when I need to answer, I just disappear. The kind of spell where you can’t find gem if you’re looking for it. But if you’re not, there it is. He says, what music do you listen to, and I pull out an uno reverse card and slap it on the table. Because I’d rather listen than talk. And I’d rather learn than share. And I’ll say oh I like that to. The person I am is a slippery fucker and as much as I don’t want to be, I can’t seem to help it. Hiding is just oh so easy.
The guy that I joke about God not wanting me to be with is intense and confident. He’s everything that I think my parents wanted me to be. And as interesting as he is, I keep waiting for a celestial told-you-so, when I see everything that is wrong and everything that is bad, despite the brains, despite the success. And I do see the wrong because I feel like I’m stuck in a loop. Trumpet mans was a musical Roomba. And as much as I hate to admit it, I keep seeing a Randall Boggs 2.0. I see all the things I liked in the beginning, where he has all his shit together, wakes up at 7 and works out and just fucking grinds and is intimidating in all the ways. Except he’s cuter and smarter. Like holy hell is he smart. And so in turn I feel decidedly not smart. I hate it. This whole time have I been dating just to boost my ego? But with all the nice things I see I also end up thinking about everything bad. I’m not dating another goddamn robot.
So today when he called to cancel dinner and apologize and ask if I wanted to get breakfast instead, I was not phased. And when he says that he doesn’t like to text, that he’s direct (read blunt), that he identifies with finance show characters, it is not the first time I’ve heard it. And when he tells me his first impression is that he likes how I do finance and also arts, I already know that he’ll never be sweet. I already know that he’ll always love work more, that he loves himself most. I already know I won’t make this mistake again. But him just existing in my life drives me in a way that I don’t recognize. I do everything I’m supposed to, the things that are usually a struggle, the things I always put off. And so I said yes to breakfast. And he’ll jet off to San Fran on a flight where he can “lay all the way down” and then off to LA and then back to Miami. I know I likely won’t ever see him again.
Other than that, I’ve been comforting Poutine over his break up, getting steak at Gallaghers with Fairy, planning the PR trip with the squad. Tomorrow I’m off to see Hadestown for mom’s birthday, and the painting I was supposed to finish by now is only half done. I got Ivan Ramen with Cashew, who got a new job, ate shepherd’s pie at Puma’s, and didn’t go back to Rumble because apparently it takes a full week for me to recover from a work out. I started watching Billions. I’m reading about crypto. and pretty soon I need to sign up for level 2. There is so much to do and I’m overwhelmed. But for the first time in a long time, I’m not paralyzed in bed for hours at a time, I’m not hiding. It’s not perfect, but there is really nothing wrong, and for now at least, I’m not trying to convince myself that there is.