Things Get Shittier

I think we can all agree I’ve had a very shitty three weeks. Good god, has it been that long already? I guess the universe wanted to express the symbolic shittiness of my life with a stronger, more vivid representation, in case I or anyone else didn’t quite get how bad it all really is.

Two days ago I cried at the window of our apartment because a pigeon who had been sitting on the windowsill flew away at the sight of me. My mad, spiraling darkness scared it away. Later that afternoon, after a day that was almost entirely full of lows, I had a moment of relief over a glass of wine with my mom, in an outdoor cafe shaded by some sort of tree. I was two minutes into an actual conversation, where I said things that connected to other things and then listened to a reply and said thoughtful things back. Granted, the conversation was about an episode of the Bachelor from 2009, but it was so much better than the loop I have been on for three weeks. “How could he do this?” “Does he have any idea what he’s done?” “Why did he do this?” “Am I crazy?” and back again.

Suddenly, in the midst of my retelling of how Jason gave his final rose to Melissa but then couldn’t stop thinking about Molly, a pigeon the size of a duck unloaded what felt like a week’s worth of bowel movements onto me. I mean all of me. My hairline and forehead,  the tips of my hair that were swirled into a bun on my head (???), my sweater, the t-shirt under my sweater, the back of my neck, my hands, which I had been using a lot, as I do when I talk passionately about things, the crotch of my light grey jeans, and inside the handbag that was sitting on a chair next to me. Even my mom felt a drop hit her face across the table from me.  Laughter was the only possible response. “They say it’s good luck,” my mom told me. We always do that- try to dilute shitty things with the hope of a brighter outcome. It reminded me of what he said to me three weeks ago. “This is best for both of us, in two or three months you’ll see that.”  

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