Kudzu

"This biologist came into the booth today," I tell Katie as we're sitting on the stools at the kitchen table. "He deals with, like, invasive species, and I did not," I say raising a finger pointedly, "talk about kudzu, and talked about invasive Argentinian red ants instead." 

"Good job," she says, "but kudzu isn't an invasive species."

I just figured everyone talked about kudzu, and he probably was tired of hearing about the one invasive species everybody thought they knew about.

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One year ago: Remora

Two years ago: Alone Together

Three years ago: Where Are You Going? Where Are You From?

Four years ago: Dinner And A Show

Five years ago: Not That Different

Not Leaving

March, Katie and I have agreed, is gonna be us hanging out, watching movies, and deep-cleaning the house of the devastation we have wrought upon it for the last several months as we've gotten her business off the ground. 

Trudging up the stairs after the doge's last walk of the night (she clambering awkwardly up in front of me, one laborious step at a time), I imagine, for instance, taking up all the rugs in the apartment and scrubbing the wooden floors that lie concealed beneath to a warm golden glow.

This satisfying image gives way to a further image of the rugs, gone, and all the furniture too, and everything out of the apartment to the bare white walls, the way it would look if we were moving out. The very idea of leaving this place (something we have no intention of doing) fills my heart with a heavy, wet sadness, and I have to pause at the door to let it settle before going inside to get ready for bed.

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One year ago: Encouragement

Two years ago: The New Technique

Three years ago: Drunk and Cold

Four years ago: Worst Cabbie Yet

Five years ago: Is That a Good Enough Answer For You?

Morning Argument

She's furiously texting, walls of blue scrolling up the screen, interrupted only by small, pleading gray replies. "I deff don't need compliments but I can't handle when you" too far and fast for me to follow over her shoulder.

I adjust my grip on the subway pole. She stabs "send," turns the screen off, and clutches it to her chest, knuckles whitening.
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One year ago: Self Talk
Two years ago: She Learned It From Me?
Three years ago: I'm No Cary Grant
Five years ago: I Don't Actually Wear Cologne
Seven years ago: Barbaric Meo-awp
Ten years ago: Wii Would Like to Play (With Your Balls)

Beats An Office

"I'm losing track of days," I tell Katie at the end of my twenty-fourth straight day at the booth. The cop on TV discusses how to tell if a prostitute in Vegas is dealing drugs.

"Well, a lot of office workers thought yesterday was Monday too, because of the long weekend," Katie says, peering out at me from where she's laying underneath a flannel blanket.

"Same, but without the despair," I say, nodding.
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One year ago: General vs. Specific
Two years ago: Becoming Something Beautiful
Three years ago: Another Long Walk Through Winter
Four years ago: Spite
Five years ago: She Said It Would Be Cold
Ten years ago: This Old, Cold World

Somebody Had to Start The Fire

The woman gets up from her table and, in putting on her jacket, nearly knocks over my drink. The hostess quickly assesses the situation, quietly slips over and, with a few deft adjustments, secures the safety of our drinks and makes sure the lady's jacket doesn't get wet.

We exchange glances, the hostess and I, and in response to her apologetic eye-roll I mime placing the oblivious woman's still dangling sleeve over the candle and setting it alight.

"Like that Billy Joel song, except you did," the hostess says, laughing.
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One year ago: Winter Takes a Holiday
Two years ago: Like This
Three years ago: Unfair
Four years ago: Mysophobia is Occasional Common Sense
Five years ago: Stand Clear

Bleed Through

"I spent a lot of time on Twitter today," I tell Katie as we sprawl exhausted on the couch at the end of the day. "I might have cursed this one guy to baldness when he gets older."

We watch the couples dance across the ice on TV, and I find myself picking at tiny little mistakes, and feeling a sort of exhausted, dark pleasure at cleverly pointing them out.

"You seem a little mean today," Katie finally says with a concerned look in her eyes.

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One year ago: Winter Takes a Holiday

Two years ago: Like This

Three years ago: Unfair

Four years ago: Mysophobia is Occasional Common Sense

Five years ago: Stand Clear

Staying In Touch (With My Feelings)

"Are we FaceTiming?" my Dad shouts over the phone after he picks up, and so I pull the device away from my ear and punch the button that brings up his friendly face on my screen. I'm lying back in my bed, and I adjust my pose a little in the tiny inset picture of me on the screen to minimize my weak-ish chin.

"Why are you cheeks so red?" he asks, still smiling.

"Oh, I'm just mad about something," I say, realizing, as I say it, that that inconsiderate email I read right before I called them must have gotten to me more than I thought.

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One year ago: Forgotten

Two years ago: Relief

Four years ago: Not All That Great A Door, Really, Either

Five years ago: Be Willing to be Boring