I miss everything.
I miss what people’s whole faces looked like.
I miss accidentally bumping into someone in a mundane location like the grocery store and then saying “sorry” while smiling at them, not fearing that either of us would die because we said a word out loud without protection.
…
Wake up. Feel tired. Feel confused.
Go to a doctor. Say something’s wrong with you. Hear nothing’s wrong with you.
Feel tired. Feel confused. Pick up your kid. Hide the tired. Worry about the tired.
Sleep.
Wake up. Feel tired. Feel confused.
Go to a doctor. Say something’s wrong with…
I’m afraid.
I’m afraid of a lot of things.
I’m afraid of heights. I’m afraid of the water being too hot when I thought it was just lukewarm and when I wash my hands it’ll hurt and I’ll forever have strange hands. …
I’ve had an interesting year or two.
I’ve become a father. I’ve leased upwards of 6 cars and then either re-leased them to other people or sold them. I’ve fallen in love. I’ve hurt people. I’ve just run the gamut.
It’s created an odd version of me. I write less…
You lose your hair. Bummer, I know. “But I had a Jew fro and..” Stop. Just stop. It goes. It will make you nervous, but as you age, you learn to cut it in a way that says, “hey, at least I’m not fat.” Also, women know every man goes…
I’m sitting here on a plane listening to Robyn’s “Dancing On My Own”, unbeknownst to every adult sitting near me and loving the fact that what they don’t know is that in my head, i’m parading through the aisles like a wildly, wildly gay man giving everyone everything I’ve physically…
“The thing is, I didn’t say that. And honestly, I’m so fucking sick of this conversation”
“Yes. You did.”
“I did what, say ‘that’? See now you’re being vague, because I finished the sentence differently so now your answer is confusing, as though I did ‘fucking sick of this conversation’…
This isn’t how it was supposed to go.
I’m supposed to be your dad, the one that wakes up down the hall from you every day with your mother. We’re supposed to argue and make up about who’s going to get up to get you. Sometimes I’ll pretend to sleep…
Years ago, I was at a holiday party for a company I hated. I was sad, without a voice, and terrified of ever voicing my opinion. The best part:
I was a staff writer.
I went to work, daily, confused on who I even was. Why I gave myself this…
