I don’t want to go to a coffee shop. It’s not my thing.
And even if I want to, I can’t. It’s 2:47 in the morning here.
I know, there is always tomorrow. But it will not make any difference. The answer will be the same.
I can’t tell you any place or type of setting where I like to meet and socialize with friends or loved ones. I don’t socialize. My loved ones are not fond of socializing either. At least, not with me. My friends don’t exist. I don’t miss them. How can you miss something that is never there.
I don’t hate coffee. I drink it once in a while. Black. No milk, no sugar. Real men drink their coffee black. That’s what my ex used to say. But I’m not a man. I wish I am. Privileged creatures. I left my ex. He told me I have nothing to offer to a man. I just lie there dead he said. I told him It will take a real man to make me moan in bed.
Remember the time we were told to let the scene write itself? Well, this scene is doing that right now; writing itself.
I didn’t even want to do this assignment today because I did it already before and I was not feeling particularly inspired so, I watch Robert Pattinson doing some hard work trying to act instead of just being there looking good. To me, he failed on both.
Standing over the sink munching the left over of baguette and some olives with garlic, suddenly I get the idea for this prompt. I thought: why not just follow my thoughts. So, here we are. I’m updating you with my mouth full.
What can I say?
Nothing actually. Nothing that might interest you.
I can tell you that this week, I survived by the skin of my teeth. No details. I can tell you that the treatment did not work and I cancelled all my medical appointments. I have enough of hospitals and doctors and needles and vague specialists that don’t tell me anything concrete. I will cure myself. As always.
What else? I can tell you that I’m sad about Paris. Who isn’t?
I can tell you about how funny it is how humans can wrap their minds around things and fit them into their own version of reality. I can tell you nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. I can tell you how hard is getting up in the mornings and wishing sleeping was not something temporary. Or not knowing why you do what you do and keep on doing it. Or looking at yourself in the mirror and don’t feel like it is you.
I can tell you how hard it is to eventually, don’t feeling anything all day and just feel anguish when you realized the day has passed and you have feel absolutely nothing.
But it isn’t me. It’s those snippets of thoughts I collected because they speak my language. I wonder sometimes if that’s the reality.
How much more you want to hear before you bail out?
People don’t want to hear or read depressing thoughts. They like to pretend that everything is A-okay. Nobody really wants to know the truth when they ask how you are. They are just being polite. Don’t rock the boat, don’t call attention to yourself, go with the flow follow the herd.
Fuck all that.
None is so blind than those who refuse to see.
You heard enough.
If you’re brave enough to have a second date, let me know. But I will not hold my breath.