I purposely picked the small cup today (ok, there were two choices, I have to run the dishwasher) and thought about the difference that would have on my writing. It’s ok that the cup is small today, I don’t really have much to say.

This cup was given to me by a man… who is so fucking annoying to me I don’t like to start the day thinking about him. However, I am.

What it must be like to be the one who wants… I don’t want him. He continually emails me, texts me, trying to say things to me, so many things, and I give much less than half a rat’s ass about any of them, significantly less. I ignore him until he says he wants to see me, with ample seriousness and incentive. These days, I have to stop the creep from creeping, he texts me dozens of messages with nothing but “Did you get my message?” until I respond and say “Yes, would you like to set something up?” and then there’s a long lengthy explanation about something and some reason why he can’t, and with it a summary of his life up to that point or something and I utterly (again? today?) do not care.

What it must be like. Does he not understand that I do not care, or is he so desperate that he will keep trying to squeeze blood from this stone? I can’t understand that level of desperation… but yes, I can.

I have to call my best friend back. We did speak, she is happily domestic, I am jealous, but I’m sure she is too. Long ago, when I had already settled down with my ex straight out of (during) college while she was wildly dating her way across the city, we were jealous of each other then too. I wonder if we’ll reverse roles again, I hope not, because beyond everything I want her to be happy. I guess then maybe I also hope so, if she wants to be where I am.

She asked me for pictures of my life. I have nothing g-rated to show… She asked me for pictures of me and the boy (she never got pictures of me and my ex, there were some amazing pictures), and I have none. It was then when I questioned if we were actually in a relationship. He’s not a performative partner, he’s actually lazy as hell in that regard. Should I even bother getting pictures of him?

He’s *so* problematic, in every way, and I just don’t know if I want to bother with him anymore.

But (I don’t care) I know my best friend will still want pictures… when we were together, living on the same side of the country, we reveled in the absurdity of absolutely every little thing. As a matter of fact, I’ll just send her pictures of me and my last ex and call it a day. And the one before that and just tell her to squint a little. She’ll think it’s hilarious. I do too, actually.

This idea alone was worth sitting down here for. My academic friend says that this exercise isn’t working – can’t cosign you on that note bro, I think it’s doing a good job by me.

I have some other things kicking around inside of my ribs today… I am a human popcorn machine, kernels flying and pinging around inside of me, softly hitting every spot with only slightly more insistence than a bubble. A dry bubbling sensation.

In the 90’s, even shitty movies had incredible soundtracks. Let’s bring that back, 2021.

I cheated and refilled my coffee cup halfway again, when I went to the bathroom, and now this cup has gone from too small to too much. Or maybe… I trailed off. I hit my point early today, but I can see that that was not my point.

I’m going to send my girlfriend pictures of me and a random dude, maybe text a few more random dudes, maybe call back the random dude from last summer, and see what the fuck happens with my day.

I think it’s totally fine that my last ex is my ex – he was really problematic too. So problematic that quarterly trips to Vegas and annual trips to Paris and Nice couldn’t compensate. Plus the beach house… I kind of want to call him now, as the weather gets better. Something tells me that he wouldn’t even mind. I’m not sure how to do it… but I will be sending pictures of him and me to my best friend.

Anyone would be lucky to have me. Sharing is one of the first things that they teach in preschool, I can tell that most men are kindergarten dropouts.