Went ahead and busted out my best move last night: The First Date That Will Not Lead to a Second Date. I’m a fucking master at this move. I’m motherfucking Scorpion in Mortal Kombat at this move, except instead of shooting a retracting claw from my hand I just babble incoherently until their eyes glaze over and they’re like, “WELL, I’ve got to get to work early.” FINISH HIM.
My alarm goes off and I’m surprised to find my son is not in bed with me, as he usually is these days. The babysitter, who moonlights as a Disney party princess, put him down with selections from Frozen and, from what I’m told, he passed out with a huge smile on his face. I’ve got to step my game up, I guess.
When I awaken I’m in a more rotten mood than the night before. By the time I went to bed, I was more “Eh, what are you gonna do?” about my date going nowhere, but the morning brings bad vibes and heartache over the past few years, to be honest. I don’t go back to my relationship ending earlier this year, I don’t go back to the string of disasters and non-starters in Atlanta, I go back to Brooklyn, to things falling apart, to Where It All Went Wrong. It’s not a good look. I try to dig myself out of that hole because, come on man. Let it go. Everyone else has moved on, gotten married, charted new courses. What are you doing here measuring the height of your failures, stacked one on top of the other?
I shake myself loose from bed, dust everywhere, and I’m surprised by the tightness in my abdominal muscles. I’ve been hitting it pretty hard lately, knowing that this journey is coming to an end, and I’m celebrating having my back muscles back by going full throttle on core tighteners. I stretch on the bed, stand and raise my arms as high as they will go, and feel everything in my body lengthen, slim, come to rest. I weigh myself. Things are changing.
I don’t even let myself have this nice moment, though. I look at myself in the mirror, and instead of being happy about actually making progress on my body I am depressed. “Well,” I think to myself, to cause injury, “You can’t blame it on your gut anymore, dude. She didn’t like you because of your repellent personality. What in the hell made you think a bunch of sit-ups were going to fix anything about that?”
No. Leave yourself alone, man. Leave yourself alone.
I’m gonna stop writing in this thing on Monday morning. That was always the plan. I’m not going to extend it. I’ll keep working, trying to get healthier in body and everything that goes with it, but with more amorphous goals than fitting into a He-Man ‘Sup Ladies tank top.
Really, what I need is to try to fit into a He-Man ‘Sup Ladies tank top OF THE MIND, MAN. A He-Man ‘Sup Ladies tank top OF THE SOUL. Part of the goal here was to, along with getting my body back, try to rescue my poor little brain. I guess I’d hoped one would follow the other, as it usually seems to do in other people, but that hasn’t really been the case for me. I mean, life is beating the shit out of me right now, it always seems to be these days. But still. It’s all connected, I know it is. When you stink of sadness and desperation nobody wants anything to do with you, romantic or otherwise. Gotta rebuild everything.
If I ever try to fit into a He-Man ‘Sup Ladies Tank Top of the Soul I need to stop beating myself up all the time. I need to forgive myself. I need to start from a position of peace instead of rebuilding over carnage.
I’ve lived in three cities in the past five years. I’ve learned that leaving town doesn’t mean you start over. There is no clean slate.
Hmmmm maybe if I lived on Mars tho hmmm ooooooooh.
Just a few more days to go. Then I will wear my ‘Sup Ladies shirt for all to see. To what ends, we may never know. Probably to no ends, probably just for the laffs.
I will reach higher, wider, to greater ambitions. Maybe it’ll look awesome on Mars.
*********EDIT TO ADD************
OH my God how did I post this without adding this video what is wrong with me? Thank you, Arian.