Artwork, “Kokomo” by Sloane Adler
I have not seen you for two months and it’s taken a hold on me, for I am a sexless creature who reeks of insecurity. Long distance is hard. Since you’ve been gone, I’ve been alone. Since I’ve been alone, I’ve had to confront the deepest recesses of my psyche. I do not trust myself but I laugh at my reflection in the mirror every day, unwittingly so. I laugh at everything. When I’m bored, I even procure comedic fodder to laugh at.
Sexually repressed and bored, well, I guess I’ll go to the 24-hour “adult” store in a sketchy part of Durham with two of my friends and grab some sleazy smut filled with your
average-Joe’s garden variety fantasies and centerfolds of cleanly shaven peroxide blondes and neanderthalic men with inordinate cravings. Hell, I’ll even purchase a cerulean foot long dildo with considerable girth not because I’ll actually use it as it would not fit in any orifice but because the monstrosity is rather majestic and smells synthetic and is the color of a JCrew cardigan I wore the shit out of in 10th grade. I even stifle a laugh as the morbidly obese cashier wearing Final Fantasy paraphernalia rings the dildo up and hands it over to me. I paid fifty bucks for that thing. I joust with dildo and giggle uncontrollably. I can tell that my friends approve of my tomfoolery; however, the lesbian couple situated nearby the vibrator section is clearly not amused by the juvenile behavior.
What else have I done?
Took a photo-shoot with the dildo and a glow in the dark balloon dog.
“Ding-dong” ditched in my dorm.
Ordered greasy take-out.
Made a bong out of a teddy-bear shaped cookie jar.
Hung out with accelerationists.
Hosted a dinner party.
Thought about the future.
And-then- I-cry. Eek.
I do stupid shit like this all the time because once I’m done with what’s mandatory, laundry included, I have nothing to look forward to.
I have no idea what I’m doing so I attempt to distract myself with frivolous activity- whether that be schoolwork, eating, waxing, drinking or contorting my body in strange positions- you know, yoga. I hate living alone, being alone, for isolation is a grotesque, macabre concept, the worst form of mental torture. So what do I do about that? Well, I just blast music from my Jambox or drone on with my roommate. I want to feel special so I decided to embellish my side of the room with canopy, string lights, and a geoid tapestry. I suppose decorating my room this way means I have a princess complex.
Remember what we had? I was your little girl, your baby girl, your doll. I was Squeaks. I don’t feel like Squeaks when you’re gone. I feel like a blob. A meatsack. A nun without the deep-seated conviction or piety. An imposter.
I miss you so much. I really do. When are you coming back? When you do come back, will you have had your fill? Should I pack my bags and leave? Most of my bags are in my dorm. I have your Le-Creuset Dutch oven. I made some vegan jambalaya in it yesterday. Too bad you’re not here so I can give you some.
Goddammit. I’ve never been so vulnerable with a man before. Ever. Was this a mistake?
Have I told you too much? I’m sorry if I did. I’ll tone it down. I’ll bring it down several notches. Just please stay. Please stay. Please. Please. PlEaSe.
Did I tell my mother too much about you? I just wanted to let you know about the progress I was making with my relationship with my mother.
Was I going too far when I referenced coke by creating lines with my Fun Dip on Valentine’s Day? I promise that was all in good fun. I did not actually snort it.
When you Facetimed me two days ago, did you find me unsightly? You said I looked tired and that I needed some sleep. Well, I was bedridden the entire day. I watched three documentaries about Muammar Gaddafi and his virginal, female bodyguards. Each documentary was about two hours long.
The more this relationship stretches out, the deeper this hole gets. I am personally digging it. If everything works out, it could be a comfy structure, a hobbit hole of a home with kids and a two car garage and lots of affection. If not, this hole will be my grave.
I could see this relationship ending. I’m sure you’d get bored. You’d say things like it was great while it lasted but I think we just want different things. You’re a sweet girl but I think we both have issues we need to work out. It’s not me it’s you.
You know, the usual. A dead relationship, a withering entity, and you’d probably be the taxidermist stuffing this dead thing with meaningless gestures.
I honestly don’t know what I would do.
I guess I would try to overdose on gummy vitamins.