Bebe isn’t home yet, it’s 12:30am. I take a Jack Daniels Highball can out of the fridge and pop it open. I call my mom, we haven’t talked in a week or so. In New York we talk almost every day. She makes me feel like a worthwhile human being again as opposed to the giant procrastinating pile of shit I see in the mirror. When I wake up, there it is again, the pile of shit. I think, What didn’t you do yesterday that you were supposed to do? What opportunity are you missing out on due to laziness, fear of failure, some other excuse, some more bullshit. Beating myself up doesn’t help much, it just makes me feel worse. I try not to do that. I drink a lot of coffee, the caffeine seems to help.

On the phone with my mom I talk about Alex. No he hasn’t emailed me, no I haven’t emailed him, no he never said goodbye. I sigh a lot, it doesn’t really matter. I remember last  year, and the year before that. The imprint and nostalgia alone is enough to survive on. A fulfilling meal, mashed potatoes and a draft beer. That’s how I remember them. The wind on my face at the beach on a cold day, the touch of icy hands under my sweater. That memory tastes like an avocado roll and hot edamame with sea salt. I’m storing all these memories in the fridge, for the times when I feel empty.

It’s almost a relief, to know that every moment is completely worthless. It’s there, it’s gone, it’s yesterday’s news. I’m sitting on the heated floor under a blanket right now, but now doesn’t really exist. Now was last year, now was three days ago eating indian food, now was last night sitting absolutely still in a tub of hot water. Let’s plan for tomorrow, let’s plan our future past. I just hope there are tacos.

Sweet Baby Mary

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