Prompt: “It’s never too late to be who you might have been.” – George Elliot
Hi. It’s been a while and I’ve missed you. I had a six-month-long existential crisis. Shit, let’s just say it’s an eight-month-long existential crisis. I’m going to go ahead and give myself two more months to wallow, so long as I write whilst I wallow. I think that’s fair.
I wish I knew where things got so off course. I blamed Copenhagen for a while, but I can’t really fault a beautiful city, kind Danes and their amazing coffee. Are there gypsies in Denmark? Short of a curse, I don’t fucking know what happened. Perhaps it was my layover at Charles de Gaulle where a really crap lunch lady served me a half-assed vegetarian sandwich. To her credit, she made a vague attempt to scrape off some of the chicken before charging me, like, 8 euro. I paid because I was hungry. And afraid. I spent the next 20 minutes curled up in a chair, gnawing on crusty bread and limp lettuce as I glared at the snide woman behind the counter.
I don’t know. None of it makes any sense, but I returned home somehow off, something horribly amiss. I promptly holed myself up in my living room, covered in blankets and glaring at anyone who dared inquired whether I was watching my third or fourth episode of Buffy in a row. What? It’s sophisticated humor.
I simply lost my desire to do anything. And with loss of drive came loss of vigilance and the subsequent loss of nine months of solid sobriety. And so here I begin again.
I might be jumping the gun, but I had the urge to write and I haven’t had that in six months; I didn’t even miss it and I find that incredibly sad. When I woke yesterday — the nagging, nervous feeling pushing me toward the computer — I was struck by the oddness and the comfort of that emotion. I cried. Wrote some utter bullshit and cried a bit more.
So it may be awkward and it may be uncomfortable, but I’m going to try to write. It’s either write or watch another episode of “The Real Housewives of New Jersey.” It’s either write or read books that I wish I’d written. It’s write or do very stupid things. I shall write.
- Breaking Gypsy Curses
- Charles de Gaulle is the most garbage airport in the entire goddamn galaxy
- Depressed or Existential Crisis? Define your neurosis
- Feel free to buy me a gift