October 1st, 2008. That’s when it started. I drove to work, walked into my office, sat down at my desk, booted up my computer and as soon as my fingers touched the keyboard, I began to sob. And from that point forward, I sobbed every day for a year. From October 1st, 2008 to October, 2nd 2009, I sobbed. For one entire year. Every single day.
At the time, I didn’t know why I sobbed. I just sobbed, and it wouldn’t stop. It was like vomiting out the emotion of a thousand years, and I was surprised I had that much in me. I didn’t like it. I wanted it to stop.
I woke up alone.
On Christmas morning 2014 I woke up alone for the very first time in my entire life.
But I wasn’t sad about it.
The stockings were full. The candy was out. The gifts were under the tree. I even left the Christmas tree lights on overnight. Like I always do. But this time I took my Christmas Eve sleep to the couch, right next to the Christmas tree. That year, I needed to sleep beside Christmas.
I needed to wake up beside Christmas – my first Christmas morning alone.
I’m pretty much fucked. That’s my considered opinion. Fucked.
Okay. Those aren’t my words. I just read them in this book, The Martian. But still that’s how I feel. Moreover, I just started that novel, but, now, I don’t even know if I’ll ever be able to finish it. My phone is almost dead. My book is on my phone. I even had to delete that book app, and pretty soon I could be stuck in the mucking fother boondocks, shoulder deep in mud. No food. No water. No Google. No book. I very well may be doomed. Just like that guy in that novel who was left alone there on Mars for a while.
Well, maybe not that bad. But pretty close.
Here I sit naked, computer on my lap, in a Korean Spa in downtown Los Angeles writing this story. My butt cheeks are spread-out on top of a towel laid out on some pillow, legs together, outstretched taut in front of me so that no one can spot what they don’t want to see.
I’ve been keeping it a secret. But, I just can’t keep it to myself any longer.
I’m in love. I’m in love with my imaginary boyfriend and his name is Travis. His name is what I first fell in love with. Everything else I fell in love with came shortly thereafter.
Travis Lee Worter. I call him Trav for short. I often tease him that he needs a “Jr.” or a “II” or a “III” after Worter. When I first teased him, he sorrowfully bowed his head and whispered to me that he no longer has his father.
SATURDAY I PARTIED WITH “THE KIDS!” – THE END.
Just kidding! About the “-The End” part, I mean.
For purposes of this story, I’m referring to, specifically, “The Kids” ages 21 to 29 years. The untamed. The energetic. The romantically idealistic ones – sprinkled with just a bit of cynicism and barely crumbs of fear.
Oh…Just, basically, the ones who drink a lot of beer and can buy it for themselves.
Just so we’re clear.
Honestly. I don’t know that there is anything funny that comes out of assembling a piece of Ikea furniture.
The first time I ever put a piece of Ikea furniture together was years ago at a law firm where I worked. I was somewhere in my stupid-old 20’s. It was a small firm. A very, very small firm. My title? Jack-of-all-Trades. Apparently.