brief notes: california

one day you’ll wake up in california, and this will actually happen so pay attention, and it will be 3:21 in the morning, and christ trump hasn’t even crossed the mississippi since he’s been president, and now you have to read his bullshit tweets on a time-delay, which of course you do, but you’ll be in this beautiful bed with two beautiful people sleeping in the room next to you, and you’ll remember that time you spoke at their wedding, when donald trump wasn’t the president and you didn’t wake up every morning fretting about everything.

and then they’ll leave with their wonderful child for whom you have a stupid nickname and you’ll be starting to withdraw from booze and just walk until your best friend of many years has passed you on the bus and you’re going back to his place because what else have you got to do but kill time? he’ll text you and say he saw that you went too far on your walk down geary and that you can cut up to california on spruce and you’ll just be, like, i dunno, really grateful. and then you’ll get there and drink and wait and drink and wait and wait and drink. you’ll shave and look in the mirror and remember what ted told you, which is that there’s no escaping the mountains.

after that, you’ll shower, except you won’t because you don’t know where to change the tub into shower mode and fuck it your ass smells enough and that’s bath-worthy. and you’ll remember those naked baths you took with some girl, and christ yeah, it’s been almost ten years, and how good she looked naked. and how you did, too, comparatively speaking. when you’re kind of like, “my junk is clean,” you’ll dry off and put the towel on their washing machine and be like, “should i do this laundry, or will a bottle of wine as thanks be enough?” and you won’t have an answer, because what do you really say to the people that have saved your life over and over except “thanks, here’s some wine and a stupid note”?

later on, you’ll talk to another couple of people and they’ll be confusing and you’ll be like, “maybe i should just grab a bus and go,” and then you’ll be like, “or play guitar for twenty minutes,” and if you’re really lucky, and you’re all alone in an apartment in san francisco, you’ll do the latter.

last night i dreamt about waking up. over and over, i woke up in my dreams, and i looked at a phone that was ostensibly beside me, and the clock said 3:21. which was weird because i’m pretty sure that’s when i went to bed. i woke up and smelled coffee, but i didn’t see alexandra for reasons unknown and went to smoke on the back porch, because even though matt requested i only smoke out back at night i figured it was still dark enough.

i’m sorry, matt.

when the kid woke up he was in a bad mood which, for a person that doesn’t have kids, is charming. let me be clear: i am glad that i don’t have kids, but i love the hell out of them. they’re so fucking stupid, it’s great. and then they yell and scream and the parents get them ready for stupid shit that babies and toddlers do and they speak sign language and you’re like, “huh.” so you re-remember the sign language alphabet and that time you helped the deaf dude get a drink at the bar because you could sign the alphabet, and you’re like, “meh, i’m definitely not a great person, but at least i’m better than napoleon and he’s got buildings named after him,” because really, let’s be honest, most great people never get buildings. it’s just not how history plays out.

later, if you’re lucky, you’ll get an overpriced sandwich and look at photos and wonder how much it cost to frame them all.

when it’s time to go, as is tradition, you’ll be heartbroken. why is anyone’s guess, but it’s been the case for about ten years so you’re used to it. you’ll admire stupid plants that any stupid idiot could have grown and wonder why you didn’t grow them. you’ll admire the sea and hope for no earthquakes. and if there’s an earthquake, you’ll hope it takes you right the fuck out.

wicker chairs and baby clothes and high ceilings and people who still kind of care. care enough to prop a photo from your college graduation on their mantle, anyway — maybe, you suspect, just cause you’re crashing at their place for the night and they’re nice as hell and way more considerate than you’ll ever be. and that is divine. that is sacred. it’s all heaven, and heaven. heaven is a place.

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One response to “brief notes: california

  1. Dude that photo has been there since we moved in. Swear.

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