I keep myself awake far too late at night.
In some twisted way it is an attempt to postpone the coming of tomorrow.
(spoiler: it never works)
Late nights are timeless, limbo-like places, but early mornings are full of dread (or perhaps potential); of to-do lists that remain endlessly incomplete.
In the state of ‘the night before’ you can promise yourself - poorly convince yourself - of all that you will accomplish the next day.
But soon it is the next day, the next day is the now, and it comes time to do all the things that need doing.
It is much less threatening to lay awake at night and while away the hours with an unproductive nothingness.
Less threatening, but also less brave.
It is something close to ironic that what leaves me the least courageous is the thought of fully participating in my day to day life.
This 2 am wakefulness is a false pretense under which I hide from my morning realities.
The problem is not that I don’t look like girls in magazines.
The problem is that there aren’t girls in magazines who look like me.
Had an appointment today with a specialist doctor, so I hadn’t been there before.
The receptionist wanted to take my weight and height before I went in to see the doctor.
I purposely stood with my back to the scale, so I wouldn’t see the number.
She asked me to turn around and face the scale, so I did, and politely said “Can you please not tell me what the numbers are?”
I didn’t even care if she thought I was weird for asking, because I just know that it’s a lot better off for my sanity if I’m unaware of exactly how much I weigh.
But then she said “Oh, there’s no need to worry dear, you only weigh **kg”
bring me strong coffee in the morning lay in bed with me in a way that feels indulgent not lazy listen to our recent musical obsessions on repeat play with my hair hold my hand and absentmindedly stroke the top of my thumb with yours take naps with me tell me that you find my mind as captivating as you find my body
I woke up and felt so horrible. And then I went to the dentist and it was scary and I cried. And then I went to the grocery store which really stressed me out and so I cried there. And then I went for a walk in the park and for some reason that made me cry. And then I went to the gym just now and I also cried there and I think it made my trainer really uncomfortable. I want to go get a coffee now but I’m sitting outside waiting because I’m scared I will cry in the coffee shop. And I have to go to work in a little bit and I don’t want to go because I’m worried that if a customer even looks at me the wrong way I’ll start sobbing at them in the middle of the restaurant.
I hate days like this where I feel so utterly fragile.
We’ve spent all evening drinking sour cherry cider, smoking cherry Dreams, eating veggie pizza, and watching endless reruns of Friends.
I would feel a lot more comfortable doing things independently if men didn’t take my being alone in public as an invitation to invade my space and talk to me incessantly even after I have made it clear I am not interested in a conversation.
But I have a stupid long layover between flights this evening, so I’m currently at a Belgian cafe drinking one of the most amazing beers I’ve ever tasted. It’s called Mort Subite which means “sudden death” and it tastes like tart cherries and almonds. I’m also eating salted pretzels with mustard which is one of my favorite snacks. And then tomorrow I get to see the ocean!