I haven’t showered in thirteen days. Thank god I have no sense of smell. What year is it? Isolation has turned me into a caveman. Words have no meaning. When I first met up with another real human, he asked me how I was doing. “Thank you” I responded.
I’ve probably been inside the past two months because I was arguing with my girlfriend. It turns out that a long distance, open, no boundaries relationship doesn’t always create boundless amounts of trust and goodwill. Throw in a four year age gap (she’s 24, not 16 you perv) and you get a dysfunctional relationship that has you asking, “Wait, Quiet Period Ended?” halfway through the semester.
We always think we’re going to be different. 90 percent of all long distance relationships fail, but I thought I was in the one percent.
“We were made for each other,” I tell her over the phone.
“I need a break,” I text her three hours later.
That Friday I hook up with a Sophomore who apparently chugged bong water right before I came over. Her room looks like a big sty if each pig was given $9000 dollars on their K-card. As she explains it, she is “too smart” to be organized. Her bong-water chugging brilliance cannot be contained in a Watson single. I don’t tell her about my girlfriend until I accidentally call her “Jane” en medias res.
On Saturday I meet a girl I matched with on Tinder. She lets me into the Caples lobby, introducing me to all eight of her friends. They accompany us upstairs and we begin to play beer pong as my date steps into her room and takes a phone call. It lasts over an hour. I was happier when I thought Tinder was dry flammable wood (with which I could immolate myself).
On Sunday I do laundry, have a (I think) flirtatious conversation with a girl and then ask for her number. A few days later I’m talking with a friend about it when the girl standing next to him clasps her hands to her mouth, “Oh my god, you’re him! You’re the laundry guy! She hates you so much!” I’m the fucking laundry guy.
I think about crawling back to my girlfriend, but I would rather practice guitar. I’m at the point where I’m not good enough for there to be any pressure. It’s kind of nice.
Honestly, the only thing that’s been holding me together is Meredith Bonham’s student updates. I used to be depressed, but now that I know Meredith is incorporating more “walking meetings” into her day, how could I not be filled with absolute joy! Thank you Meredith Bonham! (psych she’s abandoning us).