12:14 PM; 3027 Logan—bed
Spent yesterday in the company of Maia—went to therapy, went home to do laundry, went to see Hidden Figures, loaded up my car with more stuff, and then spent my alone time curating a music list for The Nightside. Show #3 was a great success, and I feel extremely motivated now to keep it going and make it great. Molly couldn’t make it in time, which was a bummer, but I guess I owe her for pushing me to impress. And Bryant. I owe Bryant big time. I was enjoying listening to music and fantasizing about Molly so much that I feel into insomnia, and so I forewent brunch plans this morning and will instead be meeting up with Bryant and Rob Littwin at 2:00 for rock climbing. Tomorrow I hang out with Mom all day and MAYBE will grab coffee with Ed—he actually messaged me back about The Nighside and then texted yesterday that he got laid off. I still do not know why he went AWOL for an entire year. I doubt he’ll keep our plans for tomorrow. But that’s okay because then I’ll be free to hit up Molly’s show in the evening and meet her best friend. And then I’ll see her for our date Tuesday, which happens to be Valentine’s Day. Ha.
Yesterday at therapy I told Chris how much Molly has caused me to inflict great suffering on myself. Supposedly, to combat my INFP tendencies, I need to keep a card in my pocket that lists verifiable truths on one side and the people who love me on the other. Then, when I face those terrible, frequent moments of anxiety, I can read the card and “breathe through my feet,” as Chris puts it. Sure. Why the fuck not.
But today I’m feeling good, despite the gray weather. One of those inspired days that makes me feel like I can do anything and I must go quickly to create something genius. I suppose I will revisit my old blog and post pieces that I’ve performed at The Nightside. I need to start working on whatever the next will be. Must do this in time to visit Tanner at Uncharted—he’ll be back from his vacation finally, and it’ll be so good to see him.
I hear a roommate in the kitchen. NPR plays. Eggs are being whisked. My clothes dry on the rack at the foot of my bed. Beyond the brick walls out my window, winter treetops stretch toward the clouds asking for sun. I chomp on my mouthguard. I hear the clock tick. I wish I could summon my laptop with the force.