I think there’s few thoughts that are more reoccurring than how often I’m by myself. I think I antagonize this by being extroverted and going out. When I have creative energy it’s the absolute worst. I get to tell myself the jokes, which still makes me laugh, but isn’t the same. I really need to up my game in finding new connections or spots. It’s not a problem to let compound.
At the same time, I know people are shit. I have to get a ahead of what will be an increase in the other pool of thoughts that accompany doing things alone. I'll never be the one getting invited. I’ll hear about how busy and poor people are. Inevitably the particularly off-color joke won’t land and the chasm that opens up will mean I’ll want to ensure there’s several pots cooking at once.
If I had any sense, I’d focus more on cleaning up the yard and getting trash thrown out. It’s quite hot. I’ve gotten more of my inside environment organized and rearranged. All that’s left is maybe 20 minutes of making dish storage more coherent. I’m staring dead into the heart of my guitars, sax, and piano. I have approximately 7 hours to kill before I need to be in line to not get a shit table.
There’s so much time. I always have the time. Why do I always have time and so many never have any? Why take on debt for things that only bring you stress instead of fun or growth? Why am I able to answer my phone or text you that I saw the call? I’m flatly irrationally conceiving of myself in this wholly unintentional bubble where my sense of what’s possible or worthwhile appears completely detached from the people…are they even in my orbit?
What if you never bothered to take these little strolls? What if you were so desperate for companionship or solidarity it never occurred to you what aspects were worth setting a boundary to protect? I haven’t lost my ability to make insta-friends. I’m not shy. The existential barrier to getting what I want is that so many people conduct themselves like so many interchangeable bodies. The ones that don’t get subsumed by their solipsism. Is there not a spectrum with decently aware, fun, individuated personalities worthy of exchange?
I tried calling Hussain. He didn’t pick up. I got two tickets originally for this show as, in my mind Ron Funches isn’t a run-of-the-mill comedian so whatever extra effort might be made to trap someone for a couple hours should occur. I haven’t really spent any time talking to the friend who I bought it for after the kid gun waving incident, yet he’s supposed to go. I don’t have a strong instinct as to whether we’ll even sit together. We’ve not-gotten drinks together the last 3 times he’s suggested, and then bailed or ignored. He’ll call when I might be of service to him and his professional obligations.
I’m looking forward to Seattle. I’m thankful I get messages from Brandy where we can continue intellectually stimulating conversations. My dad continues his cooler-than-you reliability in surprising me for my birthday and being down to see people like Dave Chappelle in Chicago without needing an insulting explanation. I’m wearing a Sick Sad World T-shirt, and I kind of don’t ever want to take it off.
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