– I woke up kinda late and immediately thought, “I’m getting sick.” That’s how I know summer is ending.
– It started raining around 10:00am and didn’t let up until late. I was supposed to see Vanessa again but bailed because I thought I was getting sick and it was raining and I didn’t think I felt like it. Plus, my roommates were both out of town, the first time that’s happened since I moved into my new apartment. It’s so rare to have time to myself like that.
– After work, I came home, smoked a little weed, and played videogames for like three hours. There’s this really difficult game I’m playing called XCOM 2 — it’s a turn-based strategy game where you try to kill aliens — and I couldn’t beat this one mission so I kept replaying it over and over again, absentmindedly swiping on Tinder and checking Twitter between turns, noticing the time pass but not really caring, until suddenly it was 8:30pm and I needed to eat. I paused the game and went to the kitchen to make eggs but there were no eggs.
– Opening the refrigerator door and seeing no eggs was something of a low-point in the day. If you had been inside the fridge, you would have seen my face in the ugly fridge light, confused and a little disbelieving, turn to outrage, brows furrowed, as I shouted, “God fucking damnit, Jon,” across the empty apartment. Why am I unable to feed myself? Why can’t I beat XCOM 2? Why, if I’m not actually sick, which I’m not, it’s just allergies, did I cancel on Vanessa? Questions were sort of hitting me in that moment.
– I put my outdoor clothes back on (I change into a pair of lime green corduroy shorts and a faded blue New Orleans tanktop as soon as I get home), picked up my umbrella and The Long Sleep, and huffed it to Mcondo Tacos on Grand, two blocks away. I sat at the bar and ordered a shrimp and carnitas taco, read a few pages in the green glow of Mexican league soccer highlights on their wall-mounted flatscreen. The place was pretty empty, probably because it was still shitty out. Some guy at the other end of the bar was loudly and obviously hitting on the bartender. He said she would be the prettiest girl in Ft. Lauderdale if she ever went there. She said she might go this weekend. Who knows. The tacos were good. They serve them half-swaddled in tinfoil, so they keep their shape, and they always give you radish slices, which I appreciate.
– Back home in better light I finished The Big Sleep, Raymond Chandler’s famous LA noir detective novel. I’d picked it up because I read in a listicle of facts I wasn’t supposed to know about the Big Lebowski that it had partially inspired the film. It’s full of hardboiled one-liners, i.e. How do you like your brandy, sir? I like it any way at all. Better ones than that, though that’s the one I remember now. It was worth a read — the rare book that’s actually more enjoyable to read stoned — but it’s alarmingly homophobic and unkind to women. Glad Book Club did not take it on.
– Because this is an honest blog, I will admit to playing more XCOM 2 and going to bed late, knowing full well I had important meetings in the morning. Sometimes self-care and self-sabotage go hand in hand.