Tag Archives: Boring Self-Pity

Arrivals


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“Maybe this is how it starts” you think to yourself, as you wait at the passenger arrival gate at PDX. This isn’t the first time you have had this thought, and you have even been close to being right before. You look at the faces of all the other people there: the gruff, hardened, emotionless middle aged man. The white family who has signs made for whomever they’re waiting for. The young black girl, she’s wearing a knit hat and coat maybe a little too large for the November weather. You love her the most, she’s also wearing headphones that may or may not be plugged in to anything, and a headset microphone in front of her mouth which reminds you of Janet Jackson’s Rhythm 1814. Your suspicion that she may be high-functioning autistic is reinforced when she lets out a loud squeal of pure glee when she sees who is probably her brother coming out of the doors, only then does she tear off the headphones. Continue reading Arrivals

The One


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The leaves rustle, in the morning there’s a chill in the air, shopping bags start becoming aggressively seasonal, and I suddenly crave every pastry near me within a ten block radius. It’s fall, jerks! And I have never embraced my dadbod more: it is the daddest of bods. Wait is that appropriation?

The text from the guy comes at work while I am lifting a pastry up to my mouth in the break room at work. I consider telling my coworkers that this is my first cheese danish. It is, in fact, my third pastry, but really I only count it as my second because I had the first one before I clocked in. I look at my phone, log into social media, bury my face in the screen. I really don’t appreciate the stares they’re giving me, I can practically hear their whispers to each other as they giggle at the crumbs in my beard, their-

I lift my head. Oh. The break room is actually empty. Ahem. Continue reading The One

What Happens Next


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The week it happens is a week like any other: you work, you write, you take some photos, you film. If you lived this week and could warn yourself how bad it would get, send a message in a bottle through time to tell yourself to brace yourself for what was coming, would you? Would it even have helped?

You wake up one morning before work and get ready for your routine. You stretch in bed first, yawn a great gaping yawp into the morning sun. You close your eyes and concentrate on stretching the parts of your stiff body; you roll your neck, then tense your arms, your torso, then flex your legs, strong from a summer of riding your bike more than you ever have. Your body wakes up in waves, and you get ready for the rest of your morning pre-work ritual: coffee made in a French press, dark and loamy. Making your boring turkey sandwich to take to work. Feeding your cat- Continue reading What Happens Next

Why We Ghost


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The epiphany happens one day when you’re cleaning your apartment: Oh! I haven’t heard from him in a few days. I think I’ve been ghosted. You get your phone out, go down the most recent text messages. A few names of friends scroll by, your dad whose health is doing fine, your mom who is safe from the hurricane in Texas, a couple new connections whose names are not in your phone yet. Yup, there he is: Handsome Andy, who you chatted with a year ago. You saw him again more recently at a bar, and holy shit now he has a beard and is handsome as f. A nice full beard is nature’s beer goggles. Continue reading Why We Ghost

The New Yorker

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I wake up much later than the alarm clock says I should. I sit up in the bed, the sheet falls away. I take in the room: decent sized, comfy queen bed, there is a vintage bike mounted up high on one wall. Maybe it’s not vintage maybe it’s just dusty? Anyway. There are books and comic books high on the other wall. The light through the window is high and hitting the floor, it’s almost noon here. There is no one else in the bed, I slept alone, but then a memory comes fast and sneakily: a perfect morning almost two years ago, not this bed, when I had flown in overnight and got under the covers. I kissed the back of his neck repeatedly; he made a soft, pleased murmur in his half-sleep every time I kissed it, his neck always got so so bristly in between haircuts. I shake my head, literally swat the memory away. Ugh, that again? And then another even more disorienting thought: Wait, where am I?

Oh. That’s right! I’m in New York. Continue reading The New Yorker

Up, Up, and Away

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The flight is bumpy, the flight is turbulent, the flight is a flight designed to turn my knuckles white.

It touches down in Albuquerque at midnight. My hometown airport is almost deserted except for a few huddled families. I realize for a small self-pitying moment that no one has ever met me inside an airport. I roll my eyes and call a Lyft to take me to my dad’s place. He volunteered to pick me up at midnight. I politely declined but was secretly horrified: what the fuck, dad? You are 83. You are not picking me up at the airport at midnight. Continue reading Up, Up, and Away