Tonight my mind is dizzy with whiskey and my ears are filled with the new Social Distortion album. My apartment is tidy for everyone but me and I’m not sure where to start.
The disappointment of now is very small in comparison to the progress and happiness of the overall. But I’ve chosen to write at the moment when being let down is hitting me hardest, that moment right after the punch to the gut. Why do I write now? Why do I only write when I’m upset? Right now it’s because my options are punching the wall and breaking my fingers or pounding out my frustration on these keys.
I just finished a beer and dinner with someone I’d considered one of my closest friends for a year now. Yeah, last year started off with some whiskey and nights spent in my bed but they were followed by bright mornings of optimism and long days of conversation. It was the sharing of our fears and dreams that brought us close to each other. Of course I knew that we’d never progress past friends. He’s a musician and they are notorious for leaving broken hearts behind them. I wasn’t going to fall for any dreams of a future with him. Still, we shared deep personal thoughts and frequently cried on each other’s shoulders or watched muppet movies.
Tonight we sat there speechless. After I told him that we were not going to end up drunk and in bed with each other he became cold and distant. He hardly said another word and ate his 8 wings like he was hunting and killing the chicken with his own hands. He says he wish he’d known before coming out. Implying not so subtly that he would not be wasting his time if there wasn’t a chance of him sticking it in me tonight.
One of my first thoughts was that my ex was right. My friends who are guys just want to fuck me. No one has proved that as much as the guy tonight.
He walked me home. He apologized for being an asshole. He’s an asshole but I’m a fool.
I thought that Don wanted to marry me. I thought Tony was my friend. How many more of my beliefs are just smoke in my eyes?
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