I came back to dust off this mother fucker and found this in my draft folder. I wrote it more than a year ago. I’m not feeling quite so full of angst today, but reading it still gave me what my college roommate called the “bubble guts.”
First of all – spelled cantaloupe wrong. Again.
I know it’s been a while, but it seems like writing this blog used to be a lot easier. Sit down, bang out a post, and publish. Done and done. But I am struggling over here, y’all. I feel like not a whole lot of stuff is happening in my life, but I know that’s not true. I keep a list on my phone of essay ideas, but I just can’t seem to string more than 20 words together.
Here’s one such post.
“Why do you have to move to Baltimore? Do you know how long it takes to get to Baltimore? I’ll never see you. You won’t come down here. Why can’t you stay here?
Just stay, okay? Just stay.”
I overheard this half of a phone conversation at one of my neighborhood grocery stores. I almost started crying right there in front of the JIF peanut butter (fuck you, Peter Pan). The angst in her voice was like a punch to the gut.
So I’m sitting there in the peanut butter/jelly/pickle/olive aisle (kind of a weird combination, but I can dig it), sick to my stomach. Because I have totally been there. Pleading with someone to just care. I stood there, filling my cart with an unhealthy amount of Nutella, fervently wishing it was appropriate to hug strangers in the grocery store.
(Side bar – what are the most appropriate places to hug strangers? Right now I can only think of one place – game shows, namely The Price is Right, just after you are invited to COME ON DOWN. If you are a person with good smelling hair, I would imagine that you could be giving out more hugs than you are currently dishing out. Hugs and donuts, friends – we could make the world a little bit better.)