The bathroom at Il Motore. I’m out of weed. I text the delivery service, but I don’t hear back from them. The concert is in thirty minutes. What do I have around the house? A flask of Balvenie Doublewood 12 y.o. Two cans of PBR that a way-too-drunk customer forgot at work. I don’t like drinking alcohol, not because of the taste, but because of the effect it has on my body. Still, I crack open a can and bring the flask with me.
But it doesn’t work. Even when I finally feel drunk, I still feel like I’m dying. I stand in the corner of the room, looking through Twitter on my phone. I’m not a douchebag; it’s just the only thing that’s making me feel a bit better right now.
When the opening act is over, I go outside to get some fresh air. When I come back some asshole is now standing in the corner. He doesn’t need to. He’s with someone. He doesn’t suffer from social anxiety. I go in the bathroom. I sit in the single bathroom stall, waiting for the headliner to finally go on. I curse the band under my breath for taking so long to get started. The internet barely works in here, and it’s not helping.
I remember that, when my best friend wouldn’t be there in high school, I’d eat my lunch in a bathroom stall. Soon though, I would just drop my lunch in the nearest garbage can and go spend the entire lunch hour in the library.
But it doesn’t work. Even when I finally feel drunk, I still feel like I’m dying. I stand in the corner of the room, looking through Twitter on my phone. I’m not a douchebag; it’s just the only thing that’s making me feel a bit better right now.
When the opening act is over, I go outside to get some fresh air. When I come back some asshole is now standing in the corner. He doesn’t need to. He’s with someone. He doesn’t suffer from social anxiety. I go in the bathroom. I sit in the single bathroom stall, waiting for the headliner to finally go on. I curse the band under my breath for taking so long to get started. The internet barely works in here, and it’s not helping.
I remember that, when my best friend wouldn’t be there in high school, I’d eat my lunch in a bathroom stall. Soon though, I would just drop my lunch in the nearest garbage can and go spend the entire lunch hour in the library.
The bathroom at L'Absynthe.
Even before I’d ever been to the city, I considered myself a city person. This was based on movies and television alone. I wanted to do things city people do. Now that I’m in the city though, I recognize that part of me (the core of me) remains a country person. I do city things but I do them in a country way: alone. I grew up on a dairy farm, far from my friends, whom I rarely saw outside of school. I had two older brothers, but we had a significant age difference: five and seven years. They were more likely to terrorize me than protect me. I remember an incident where my mother was scared of sending me to school because she feared that my teacher would think my parents were beating me up; I had bruises all over my arms.
So I did things on my own. I read; I watched television, whatever movies they had at the shitty video store in town; I listened to top 40 radio because I’d never been exposed to anything else; I daydreamed. In the country, if you don’t do things on your own, you won’t do anything at all.
In the city, I went to the movies, to restaurants, to concerts, to clubs, to bars, to dance shows, to plays… Most of the time, I did those things on my own. I still do.
So I did things on my own. I read; I watched television, whatever movies they had at the shitty video store in town; I listened to top 40 radio because I’d never been exposed to anything else; I daydreamed. In the country, if you don’t do things on your own, you won’t do anything at all.
In the city, I went to the movies, to restaurants, to concerts, to clubs, to bars, to dance shows, to plays… Most of the time, I did those things on my own. I still do.
The bathroom at Casa del Popolo.
There are two social settings in which I need to smoke up: at a concert and at a club. I’m not entirely sure why. I feel mostly fine going to a restaurant or a theatre on my own. Sometimes I’ll notice that I’m the only person alone and I’ll feel a bit of social envy, but then I listen to the inane conversations of the people around me and I go back to reading the words of people long dead.
I think I feel fine in these contexts because my aloneness is assigned a table, a seat, a delimited space. At a concert or a club, the crowd is fluid, and their togetherness constantly threatens to butt up against my aloneness. My aloneness is in a constant state of shock.
When I get stoned, I become invested in the sensorial experience of my surroundings. I don’t care that I’m alone. The tightness in my chest subsides. Words fill my head and, whether it’s actually true or not, my stoned self thinks I’m really witty. I can focus on the music, I can hear it, I can let it inside of me, I can feel it.
I think I feel fine in these contexts because my aloneness is assigned a table, a seat, a delimited space. At a concert or a club, the crowd is fluid, and their togetherness constantly threatens to butt up against my aloneness. My aloneness is in a constant state of shock.
When I get stoned, I become invested in the sensorial experience of my surroundings. I don’t care that I’m alone. The tightness in my chest subsides. Words fill my head and, whether it’s actually true or not, my stoned self thinks I’m really witty. I can focus on the music, I can hear it, I can let it inside of me, I can feel it.
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