I am sick of drinking. A beer or two at home, a glass of wine while sitting alone is fine, but I hate going out to drink. It’s tiresome; it seems phony. I can’t connect with anyone who just wants to run around on the weekends with a buzz going. It doesn’t do anything for me anymore. It’s like sex with a mediocre old fuck buddy, you do it just to try and feel something.
I sit on the couch in pajama pants staring out the window. Another party waits, I should be getting my hair done. Instead I yawn, my eyes glaze over and I think about everything else I should be doing. Finding a new job. Walking around Barcelona. Volunteering in a soup kitchen.
I wish I could be satisfied with late nights, high heels and vodka. I do. Things would be a lot easier. I do not dub myself more important or special than anyone out right now in a button-up drinking whiskey talking about where to get the best burrito in town. Sometimes, I wish I was that.
I simply can’t bring myself to get up and out. My insides scream, get up and out, just not to another club, another house, another empty beer-infused make-out session. I cling onto text messages from a co-worker. He trusted my advice enough to buy Walden but I know the minute after we do some shots his hands will creep all over my body and he will forget the exchange of brilliance we have had. Our lives don’t mean anything and with every breath we are dying, so let’s make it count. Instead his hand will slide up my thigh and I’ll close my eyes and forget everything that was said just to try and orgasm. To try and forget that I usually have no idea what I am doing.
The chess set is laying before me, but I can’t make a move yet. Not enough money, not enough time. I need to make time. I need to sip vodka straight and get straight to the roots of my heart’s desires. Of what really gives me goosebumps. I’ve had plenty of beers and orgasms. I need a life orgasm. Relax. Relief. Escape.
Our country’s falling apart and everyone holds their breath. I try to cling onto the things I hold dear, while still placing my hands over my ears to drown out the lies and hate that people get high off of saying about me. I am not the guy in the button up shirt with scotch. I’m the girl who watches Batman on Netflix, craves travel and looks for life beyond the barstool.