The other night I sat at a bar hoping to start a conversation. I'm always looking for someone. It seems like such a fantasy now, in this time, this generation to simply meet somewhere that you're not supposed to be by routine. A random conversation seems so romantic. I know so many people, but I am lonely. Appreciate what you have! I hear this in my head. Unhappy people don't appreciate. I am grateful, but I know there's more I'm stifling myself from. Maybe sitting at a bar isn't where I should be starting. Maybe I'm lonely knowing I have the answers all along I just don't know how to equip them.
I've always just flown by the seat of my pants. It sounds so exciting that way. The adrenaline of barely making it and then resting in the knowledge that you kept it together just enough. Adding extra thrill by making accomplishments of the mundane seem that much more exhilarating because I can't do them normally like everyone else. Everything must be taken care of in a violent burst of energy, it's never gradual. I never wash the dishes everyday. It has to come after I've invited someone over and I say "Oh my god, sorry it smells." I've always been extreme in these kind of things because I'm too afraid to be extreme in any other avenue of my life. Why not take the extreme reistance to clean or handle boring adult responsibilities and apply it to investing myself in my writing or just deciding to leave the country and breathe fresh unfamiliar air. I stay in my house because I'm afraid. I'm afraid of my own potential, of being uncomfortable. I'm afraid of being on my own yet terrified to be so close to someone that my foundations sink to the ground without them. But I felt like connecting so I sat at a bar.
The more unfortunate physical version of my ex landlord was sitting next to me. I didn't feel it was necessary to tell him he looked my landlord. He looked to be in his forties, balding, short, round, not winning of the evolutionary lottery. First he told me he was impressed by the dark beer I was drinking. This became an open door to discuss his kids, his divorce, and his succubus of an ex wife. He told me how he paid for her boob job, her Botox, fancy trips, getting her nails done, all the things to occupy her unemployed day. He told me she was a vampire and the divorce was bleeding him dry. At a certain point I looked over at him and said, "So then what was the appeal for you? Obviously you were attracted to her, and that's a direct reflection of you." He seemed a bit stunned and said "Oh god, will you just slap me right now?" I said "No, I think your divorce is hitting you enough right now." We talked for a long while and he told me how insightful and smart I was, how I'm not like other girls. Then he proceeded to hit on me. I mentioned that he was making the same mistake as he did before, hitting on a younger woman who's not interested. Despite all the compliments, free drinks (I tried to pay) and flattery...I just felt more lonely. Why can I not take my own advice? Easier said than done.