linger

other than relationships - like, you know, partners, - you haven't had a one-to-one friend meeting since your trip to Asia, and even that had such a massive context with it (in SE Asia) that it never felt "on the spot." you haven't shot the shit with a friend, just one friend, over coffee for such a long time you struggle to remember when you last did. you haven't gone over to someone's house just to "hang." like many social skills, you wonder if the atrophy has rendered it forever flawed. 

he invites you and another for cigars and whiskey but the 'another' can't make it. just you and him. cigars and whiskey. socially distanced in a garage with the door open. he's kind of an intense dude, you don't agree on everything. you'd find a way out of it if it wasn't for the fact that you need to get out of the house a bit, your wife will be at work anyways, and you can't lie in bed catatonic with sadness if you're smoking a cigar and drinking whiskey.

it's only 80 minutes or so, certainly not a long commitment, but it flies by. conversation is natural. you think for a second how much you've missed this. you think for many seconds how remarkable it is you've done this. it took the kind of support and love only she could offer. she talks you down from thinking you can't do anything, that you'll make a fool of yourself. you feel happy after the chat, look forward to it again. it's cliche and unremarkable but you remember that as flawed as your last counselor was, just literally talking and using human language often lifted your spirits a bit. but then there's a different voice that starts to talk in your head about how you got lucky, you'll run out of stuff to talk about next time, you'll bore him like you'll eventually bore your wife like like like. who knows? that voice will always linger. much like the taste of cigar in your mouth the next day. but in the cold with a sip of whiskey? it all actually felt right.

making up for makeup

there's makeup around your eyes, she said it was ethereal. it is. it's bright and airy and with your big blue glasses on looks like something you used to think about when watching youtube makeup videos. in your leggings and longer hair you could almost not be a man. you remember when you first grew out a beard and hated it but then liked how it filled out your face when you had just a little bit of it, when it was shaggy but no beard, like 5-7 days into no shaving. but now it's gone and you like that too. you hate it as well though. hate seeing the pimples now, but hate the hair itching when it's there. maybe there is nothing to like, nothing to define. your looks and clothes are a moving target. there's always something to hate. you think about buying new jeans but they're expensive. you think your red pants are still too long and straight. you don't know what phases fashion is going through, you're not dating so you're not plugged into that anymore. the makeup is almost gone now, and you're in your normal work clothes carrying a briefcase, looking like some adult working a boring corporate job. now there's a look you will never, ever like.

severed crossed climax

it's the same playlist it's been for a few years now. the songs were chosen to be melancholic and kind of sorrowful but not slow, still punchy and party like. sort of. you remember listening to the list the first time and this time won't be the last. it's a familiar habit to go back on when the sadness of another year passed sets in. the list has survived more than one partner and more than one drug and more than one prescription and more than one bottle of alcohol. "severed crossed fingers there" st vincent crows. you drank more than you had in awhile after pregaming with enough water to make sure you could. half a 12% beer and a shot or two of whiskey later and a glass of champange here you are. it's 2am and she's gone upstairs to sleep while you put on the end of flcl as you put away the last few dishes. it's the same show it's been for years now. the show is melancholic and kind of sorrowful but not slow, still punchy and party like. it's a familiar habit to go back to when the sadness of another year passed sets in. you used to do this at 3am on saturday night at your parent's place and then yours. you have a few resolutions, just like mamimi, who wanted to be a photographer. "i don't know what happened to her after that" naota says. i'll see you next year. i think that's a resolution enough in and of itself.