The seven dollar beer


Sitting in front of me is one of my local favorites, Westbrook white Thai. At that price I wonder how much the bud heavy costs. The guy next to me is drinking one and he hasn’t gotten off his phone in 15 minutes. I think he’s a lawyer. Or some other kind of ass.

I’m typing on my phone so I don’t keep staring at people around me. The girls across the bar are so much more interesting than the closed captions on the tv above. I can’t tell if they’re just friends or maybe lovers. I like how much wine they’ve been drinking. I came into the TV show too late.

My veggie burger is getting cold in it’s to go bag. You wonder though if that matters. It’s composed of vegetables. This one might have rice in it too.

I’m savoring the expensive beer. Maybe it isn’t expensive if I drink it long enough.

I think the four people to my left are: two sisters, a father, and a boyfriend of a sister. I think I’d like them if I interrupted their stories and said Hi!

I get sick of looking at my phone, scrolling. But I feel insular right now, I don’t want to talk to anyone. I’m very content with my beer. You know the first beer after a long day/ workout/ good sleep.

That guy just hung up his phone.

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how do I make this about myself

I have a tendency, sometimes, to talk too much. Spurts of lengthy monologues are usually triggered by too much (or just enough?) alcohol or, hell, even coffee. I talk too much because I think too much, my brain stopping me from something, one thing, every day. I can’t run that fast it hurts too much. Etc.

So talking, thinking, talking, thinking has led to the very real problem of being very really absorbed in my own life. I cried this weekend because I couldn’t get my emotions to line up with my outer self — why do I feel this way. Instead of, you know, just feeling however.

I read somewhere, most likely on a shitty Instagram post, that if you stopped complaining about everything for 24 hours, i.e. not even an “it’s too hot today” comment, you would see the world in a different light. I tried it. It’s hard.

I get discouraged sometimes. I was riled up about gun violence last week. I mean, I still am. But last week I was about to cry in rage. It’s bullshit is what it is.

One of my best friends lost her mom last week. Just like that. Her vibrant, beautiful mom. Why?

It’s enough to make you want to continue the self-absorption, to want to crawl into yourself and actually genuinely care about your recent haircut. I cut my hair on Monday and I wonder how my life will change.

I can remember so many botched relationships — some romantic, most just acquaintances that could have been friends. I talked over so many people to get to the place where I talked over so many people. Not necessarily out loud, but you know what I mean.

I try so hard to listen. That’s not true.

When I remember to listen my relationships blossom. They sit softly where they are and they just grow and grow and my mind quiets itself for a moment. It’s not about me, right then. It’s about giving someone else space. Your turn.

Let’s be real, writing right now is talking about myself.

But I encourage any and everyone to take one relationship, any one at all and infuse it with some listening. Deep breath in and out. Don’t say a word.