I wrote this in January. I want to feel like this again...

It’s seven pm on Super Bowl Sunday. This is the kind of day I wish I wasn’t in America. 

So instead of participating in football festivities that my friends knew not to invite me to, I am tucked away in my own wing of the house I live in, writing. Sometimes I wish I can hop on a Muni train and write ‘til the line ends and the announcement warns, “This is the last stop. Please gather your personal belongings and exit the bus. Last stop”. My work was so much better then. 

So here I am now, I’ve found peace in Indio. Though I’m exhausted from last night’s outing of alcohol, dancing, sex, and thinking, I am expecting the words to flow quickly. It always takes a while. 

“R” sent me a text that really fucking rubbed me the wrong way. “Meeting some nicer guys?” I looked down at my phone, awkwardly dumbfounded. “I am offended” I replied. 

“Why?” he asked.

I didn’t reply. I left it at that. I left him hanging like he always did to me. As if “meeting nicer guys” is some skill that I’ve recently picked up. As if he assumes my recent happiness is from this new ability of meeting kind males. He doesn’t care, so why does he ask? We both stopped caring months ago…

So this is for you if you decide to lurk my blog in your cold room in your cold city with your cold attitude;

I am happy because I don’t share a room with anyone. I am happy because my bunnies are always around me. I am happy because I am financially stable. I know what I want, I know where I want to be, who I want to be. I am happy with what I look like for the first time in years; you never made me feel pretty. 

I AM HAPPY BECAUSE I FINALLY LOVE MYSELF.

…and because of all of those things, I am meeting “nicer guys”.

Thank you.