September 7, 2014
I let
Jordan read my blog yesterday. He took it well, I’d say.
It’s
really uncomfortable needing someone so much. Not that Jordan is my all and
everything here, but he’s the only friend I have. And I also live with him. And
work on the sets with him. And hang out with his family with him. And I’ll meet
all his friends. He’s like a social lifeline and I’m trying not to make a big
deal about it because I don’t want to freak him out. I want him to keep me. I’m
toying with a delicate balance of foolishness and tact. That means not making a
big deal about when the toilet seat is left up, not leaving my bra on the
coffee table (since I occupy the living room), not dominating the top shelf in
the refrigerator, and making sure the wine stays stocked. He’s going to read
this and tell me I’m ridiculous because he’s a nice guy without expectations,
but still. Just how I feel. Hanging out with him is fun as hell though, or
should I say hella fun, because that’s his lingo. Life here in general is pretty
swell. It’s simple. I have one friend, I have my bosses, I have my office, I have Jordan's couch, I
have a bicycle, and the biggest problem I have to worry about is the shower
drain clogging and the refrigerator not freezing our grapes. There’s a lot of
time to think, and some loneliness still left to feel, but one day when I have
a mortgage, or a child, or a rough period at work, I’m going to remember the
way the stars look when we longboard in the empty parking garage down the
block, or aiming our spit loogies through the hole in the fence while we sit
and Jordan has a cigarette, or having time to write and paint and draw and
create whenever I feel like it, and playing music while I sprawl out my
creativity on the living room floor. One day, I will think of this unpretentious
time and say to myself, “Those were the days.” Well, these are the days, and I
will live them today.
Anyway,
so the sun is out and I’m telling you Seattle people don’t know what to do with
themselves. Even I fell victim to breaking out in a sweat from 75⁰ and
sunshine. Had a fan blowing in the window and everything. The masses emerge
from their dwellings like cave people, holding their hands out flat against the
sunrays, eyes red and crisp, and their skin shining with the wattage of a
fluorescent light bulb. I notice these things while walking to meet someone new
for coffee. I recognize this someone new from a distance, sitting at the
counter at the big picture window of that stupid café I told you about. I know
he can see me walking across the street, and it’s awkward. He pretends not to
notice me when I walk in the shop.
His name is Griffin and we met last
weekend at the same little shop. He’s such a fellow he deserves a whole
paragraph to himself. A brilliant insomniac, his mind swims with fascinating
plots and ideas and he dreams of being a screen writer, but he won’t even tell
me his favorite word, let alone let me read any of his work, because he writes
to express himself only to himself. He’s a 34 year old bread baker with thick
lenses in his square glasses and these bright, electric blue eyes that are bloodshot
from the hell of sleeplessness. We talk about people, how people are walking exhibits
that bear the souvenirs, scars, and stories of a life that has been lived in a
way no one else has ever lived or ever will live, and a simple interaction – a hello,
a meeting for coffee, a warm embrace – leaves you with something to take from
that person that you could never find anywhere else. That’s what I like about
Griffin: he’s the kind of guy with whom you can really feel what you’re walking
away with, because sometimes you don’t always realize what a person gives you, but you can with him.
Last Saturday, I prayed that God would give me a friend, and moments later I
met Griffin. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to meet up with him because I’m lame
with making friends and sometimes prefer to be alone than have coffee with
someone I don’t know at all, but I went because I felt bad asking God for a
friend then bailing on him. And also because Jordan had to work, and when he asked
me what I was going to do for the day, I wanted to sound like I had something going for me
that doesn’t involve Netflix. But I’m glad I met Griffin.
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