I knew that would draw you in, because you’re sick.
I try to avoid click bait in titles as much as possible. I had a friend that used to name all of her articles dramatically because she said it quadrupled the readership. And here’s what I think – I don’t give a shit how many people without brains read my articles, I want the readers that have heart and I want nothing else.
“Homeless Man Walks Into Cage With Starving Pitbull, What Happens Next Will Shock You.”
No it won’t, because I’m not clicking your piece of shit link. Because you show me no respect.
I always said I would delete social media eventually. The rouse of it all. The emptiness of it all. The lack of anything I really want in my life of it all. I got as far as making my Instagram private once. I deleted the Facebook app off my phone once. I still checked through the Safari browser when I got that feeling that the things happening in front of me weren’t enough. But the phone was less than not enough, it was reverse life experience. Life take away.
I will walk away one day. Not to make a big deal of it but to finally put my eyes and ears into the things that bring me life.
We had another day in the life of our marriage today. Not the married life but our married life. Italicize the and our if it helps you read the way that I think.
We woke up early, too early in my book. 7am. Laid in bed until 8 and then got up to drink water and have avocado toast. Walked to the gym and worked out for an hour, caught some sun by the pool, and walked home.
She made eggs, I made diced sweet potatoes and a chocolate peanut butter protein smoothie.
And then I witnessed the duck-bill OB GYN pappy move that every woman talks about. I can imagine a better way for a girl to spend an afternoon. Yesterday I was getting groped by another woman and today Alexis was penetrated by another man. I guess it’s best to get these things out of the way early on.
After we argued with him about birth control pills and hormones and how it’s not natural to think it’s more important to colonize Mars than to figure out how to take better care of the Earth. Are we hippies? Goddamn no. We’re hybrids. I’m too tired to do a better job writing the details that would explain the situation better but the guy was a classic Western doctor not open to opposing counsel and couldn’t understand our hesitation to taking a pill that stops a period from happening completely.
“But, just so we’re sure, a period is a natural thing for a woman to have, right?” Alexis asks.
“Well, sure. It’s natural. But what we’re talking about is being able to control the uterus. The uterus reacts to what we decide to give it.”
And this is where the sea parts and you choose your side. Middle aged men with thick mustaches and vagina diagrams on their office walls become excited here but I feel a hand with long fingernails pulling at my stomach saying these aren’t the kinds of things that we should be trying to control.
Then we went shopping. I’ve been needing a sweater for a while and won’t go by myself. I found two at the first store and called it a day. She tried on some cute clothes at Zara and showed me every one and some of them were very lovely. I bought her a dress that she wouldn’t buy for herself because it was too expensive and she doesn’t do stuff like that for herself.
*I just picked my nose and threw the booger in the general direction of the bathroom. This is disgusting and shameful but I’m comfortable in this blanket on the couch writing while she pulls apart a little baby chicken in the fridge to make tacos. I make a point to stand up and discard boogers and fingernails properly because I think that kind of behavior, in your own place when no one else is watching, is what separates life’s true greats from all the rest. But this moment I failed and I hate myself.
“You should get the dress.”
“It’s too expensive. I can’t afford it.”
“Yes you can, we’re not struggling baby, I’m getting you the dress.”
After some protest the dress was acquired and I’m glad because it’s a glorious dress and I had a genuine smile from one side of my face to the other when she walked out in it. Because it’s not that she is trying to be this dainty cute thing helpless in the wind on her blanket for a picnic it’s that she wore the dress with her jeans and her white Converse and her messy hair and she looked like a painter or a writer or anyone that looks very interesting.
And now I’m here, hanging out, listening to tunes on the Technics floor speakers while she cooks in her new shirt (that she bought) and in a little while we’ll go to the fancy movie theater with the reclining chairs and the waiters and watch Leo and Tom kill a fucking bear.
I’ll wear my sweater. It’s a nice sweater and she likes me in it.