I think I need to go on one of those trips. You know, where I find myself. Unhealthily.
I’ll spend the first few days inhaling hard liquor because I don’t know anyone. Also I want to become the type of person who can just drink whiskey with ice (or those non water cold cubes. So it doesn’t dilute the whiskey). I think I need to go to far away land to become that person.
Instead of thinking about the boy who didn’t text back, I’ll listen to music. Elliott, I hear you scream, most of your desperate messenger refreshing is accompanied by Kendrick (or whoever your cooler friend is listening to at the time). Listening to music and thinking about that boy are even remotely mutually exclusive.
Point taken. But when Isay listen I mean really listen. Who knew mambo no. 5 could speak so deeply to my psyche? (I’ll wrestle with the possibility of being a Monica, an Erica, or even a Rita). I’ll hear it on a record player or a radio because one of these trips does not include earphones. Earphones are not conducive to finding yourself.
After those first few days of drinking and kissing strangers (likely to be omitted from the follow up blog post), I’ll find a boy. A boy so good he can’t be permanent. He doesn’t have a facebook or a twitter to ghost me on. He reads me excerpts from a novel I can’t believe was never published. He’s more attractive than me, and I only care a little bit.
We’ll wake up on a beach most days (the far away place has many beaches, and they’re all the perfect temperature, even in the early hours of the morning). He’ll call me something that’s not my name, like a flower. I’ll assure myself he remembers my name. It’s just a choice. Or whatever.
I’ll still be drinking heavily, just more romantically. I won’t notice him drift away into the sunset, because I’ll be smashed (romantically). The last days will be spent alone, I’ll just like think about things. With minimal amounts of alcohol.
When I return home, I’ll be tan and skinny. Whiskey with ice is like, totally slimming. Plus all those nights I spent staring wistfully at the sunset distracted me from food, as well as boys. The plane ride home wont count. So I’ll think about him. Plan how to respond to the message he sent me before I left.
Sorry. I was in far away place.
Sorry. I was finding myself.
Sorry. I was hooking up with a tall, romantic novelist.