Dating : Sadly, It’s True

Today is Saturday, and it’s evening already.

Who would’ve thought the day would have flown by so quickly, having dedicated the greater portion of it to absolutely nothing?

I’ve already prodded my way through a quarter of my alcohol supply, which consists in its entirety (though only) of: one bottle of cab sav, two of merlot, and one chardonnay pinot noir (now complete).

Of course I considered an attempt at sobriety before the lockdown — but drove to the liquor store on the morning of instead, where I had my hands sprayed with sanitiser by a man wearing a mask and plastic gloves. He sterilised a trolley and wheeled it over into my unprotected hands, and then spread his left arm out and in the direction of the store, ushering me in as though I were entering an evening ball.

I happily obliged!

This morning, before the nothing else and the wine, I walked around my building’s premises a few times, taking heed from a friend of a friend of my father’s, who used to live in and work from his 7th floor apartment in New York City every single day for 12 years. As the story goes, this man would wake up every morning, put on a suit and go downstairs, walk once around the block, and then go back upstairs and commence his work day.

While it’s arguable that his walk could have been longer and perhaps even more purposeful than the distance of his block — there is certainly something to be said about altering one’s geographical landscape to help the mental side of it. I am happy all things considered to report this the case.

Afterwards, I made eggs for breakfast and drafted some video content I’ve been commissioned to create, and before I knew it the day was up. I made falafel for dinner and the bag of chickpea mixture was already near finished from the week before, when O had come over for a friendly dinner.

Since our walk on the beach — where we’d intended to resolve things since ending on less than amicable terms last year — we’d become something of friends.

He’d sat on my kitchen counter that night last week in his jeans and clean white t-shirt, while we discussed a film script and I rolled chickpea dough with my fingers. We ate dinner sitting on pillows on the carpet next to my couch, and drank a bottle of wine and laughed miserably.

I nearly burnt my dinner tonight thinking of how he said thank you and goodnight, before taking my face in his hands and then pressing his lips against mine, until my legs nearly buckled underneath me.

I’m not just saying this because there’s nothing else to say — sadly, it’s true.