My lover lives a few blocks away and is sleeping on his back in a soft bed. I’m not there but I know the fan is blowing and I know his blinds are lowered. The alarm clock in his room is glowing green. It reads “2:09” — that is two minutes ahead, to keep good time. I’m thinking of him.
I feel greedy when I yearn and I feel young when I desire. Like a little girl looking through a glass window at an expensive dollhouse I couldn’t have. Among thoughts of him linger contemplations about something I’d rather keep private, even to myself. To drown out my thoughts, I online window shop, scrolling through the sale sections sorted from price low to high.
—
Waking up after hours of scrolling is like trying to reverse an egg salad back into full hardboiled eggs, but we make do. I’ve created a routine of leaving my phone upstairs while I eat breakfast. I’m thinking constantly of that Daoism mantra my friend Ahmed told me while on the go-train to the city (and I’m paraphrasing): “Do the thing for the sake of doing the thing. Like if you’re gonna wash the dishes, wash the dishes”.
Usually when I hear quotes like this I sort of scoff at their seemingly simple nature— but it is me who is simple, and often can’t find myself in one thing without thinking about another. And so I’ve been washing the dishes. Really washing the dishes. No rushing, no youtube video, and since it’s breakfast, just in general, no phone. I rinse my brain of the online noise and I fill my body with my newest fucking obsession (which is so simple, I scoff at myself): chopped carrots, greek yogurt with diced cucumbers, blueberries, a glass of kombucha with a black fucking coffee— and sometimes a piece of that $6 garlic naan from the metal baskets at the grocery store.
I also stopped drinking and smoking weed; I’ve even got one of those sobriety day counters on my phone to make it feel like it’s all a fucking game, so far I’m 13 days sober. Oftentimes, I’ll forget to look at it for a while and check back for a little hit of dopamine when the numbers go up. I almost can’t believe it’s been two weeks already. Trying to look sobriety in the eye has made me feel so small up until now. With each passing day, I meet myself with more clarity and love than I have in a while.
I’ll admit that I think I’ve sort of replaced that vice with the SSENSE sale (where I buy nothing but add everything to my cart)-- I’ve got a child lock on my social media accounts that my beloved has the password to. I might get him to lock the online shopping apps as well.
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After sobriety comes the “real world” or whatever, maybe more specifically the “real me”. I’ve got to look at myself in the mirror every morning and hear what it is I think about myself and the world around me. I must form thoughts. Thinking becomes an active choice. I’ve got to deal with every single thing that surfaces. I’ve got to deal with myself.
Before this, I remember thinking, what if I let go of this crutch I’ve been leaning on and everything I love about my life falls away? What if I lose my pinkish glow? Become a nihilist? What if there’s no more good feeling? Honestly, I figured I’d just fuck around and find out.
—
And then I’m thinking about him again, from a few blocks away. I’m sitting on a couch with my back to the bay windows that face out to the front porch. The sunlight is diffused by sheer velvet curtains and the only sounds I hear are the clocks ticking and my fingers typing.
I wonder what he’s doing, but not hard enough to forget where I am.
We’ve gotten to that blissful part of a relationship where you don’t feel the need to be around each other all the time. I wonder what he’s doing but am enjoying being swallowed up by the silence.
The clocks tick just to tick, and I type just to type.