I am goddamn tired and do not not not not not not not not not want to work right now. Currently, I hate M.E. This whole thing is completely her fault because she's a piece of ugly fuck.
Last night. Small Bar. Stellas. We got in a discussion about life stuff, and whenever people want advice about what to do I have the exact same conversation.
The subsequent set of dialogue is a paraphrased and expanded version of our conversation, but in greater detail because M.E. knows me pretty well and understands what I say without having to delve, which is a talent in and of itself, because when I get going I'm pretty incomprehensible.
Generic line in reference to any problem someone might have: "I am all kinds of discombobulated over this decision because I am a namby-pamby."
I ask, "Do you believe in fate?"
"Do you believe in fate?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Just hear me out. Okay. There are three things people have faith in: Fate and Chance."
"What's the third?"
"But you said three."
"Sor: Fate, Chance, and Nothing."
"How will this help me?"
"Well, before you decide on what you should do, you have to decide which one you believe in. And then follow that for your decision."
"I don't get it."
"I guess I believe everything happens for a reason."
"Then your decision is irrelevant, and don't worry about which one you decide. Just eeny-meeny-miney-mo or something."
"That doesn't help."
"Of course it does."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Whatever decision you make is the right decision. If everything happens for a reason, then your decision has to happen whatever way you make it, because you're predestined to a certain outcome. So fuck it, and just pick one, because whatever you pick is what you're supposed to pick."
"But how do I pick one?"
"Doesn't really matter. No matter what, you're making the right choice."
"What if the right choice is the wrong choice?"
"You can't make a wrong choice if your fate has already been settled. All decisions you make are specifically tailored to your personal endgame."
"Which is what?"
"I don't know, and neither do you, but it's already been decided for you, so don't worry about it. It's going to happen whether you want it to or not."
"Is it good or bad?"
"Doesn't matter. It's fate. Everything happens for a reason: your fate."
"I don't know if I believe that."
"I sure as hell don't."
"Because I refuse to believe that I'm destined to be boring-as-fuck and living this way. Stagnant. I have to try to be exciting, it doesn't just happen to me."
"What the fuck are you talking about? Shut the hell up and stop talking about yourself like that."
"Whatever, I just can't see anything in front of me, I can't envision myself going anywhere, so I'm just kind of wandering around. Remember when I used to be convinced I was going to die before I hit 25? I don't see myself as old, or professional, or with a family. And I want that. But I don't see it happening."
"Oh, come on, don't start that shit again. You're alive, aren't you? You just need inspiration."
"Damn right I do, but it seems that I'm just going to have to inspire myself."
"You need to get fucking laid."
Vigorous nodding. "But then again, I've always felt that I'm a supporting actress, and basically put here to help out everyone else. The heroes."
"You, Muffy, Yellavitch. There are more. The rest of us are just cast **."
"Shut the fuck up."
"Whatever dude, some people fly and some people don't."
"Maybe not in your head, but to me you've got wings."
"Okay, so...you don't believe in fate because I have wings?"
"So do you believe in Nothing?"
Pause. "Because I have wings?"
Pause. "No--I mean yes. Yes. Exactly."
"Okay." She nods. "I get that."
"So what do you believe in?"
"But that wasn't one of your initial choices."
"Sorry. Chance. Same thing, anyway."
"So, what if I decide if I believe in chance?"
"Oh, then you're fucked."
Laughing. "Oh my god."
"Seriously. Every choice then yields an undetermined result, and you have to just play the odds."
Silence. Then, "Is this because of Vegas?"
"Shut the hell up."
And then we were interrupted by a random Kevin who wanted us to play pool, so we did. He and M.E. were going to head over to another bar and I was going to go to bed, so M.E. picked up her Schwinn from my apartment and they started riding. I go inside and put on sleep clothes, and my phone rings. Fucking M.E.
"We're hanging out on your porch with a bottle of wine. Let us in."
So I did, against my better judgement, and sat up drinking until sunrise. Having good, divulging conversation. Kevin's a cool guy, even though he's definitely more fucked in the head than I am.
And that's why I hate M.E.
** If any of you get mad at me for not calling you a hero, shut up and stop being a fucking baby and just deal with it. Movies will never be made about you. All of you shine. I don't really talk to people who aren't shiny, because they bore me. Just a fact. (That might alienate some people, but whatever.)
But some people fly, too. They're the heroes. The shiny fliers.
Then there are those people that are just trying so hard to glow, and they look like squirrels. And some people are completely lackluster, and they smell like gravel and travel like ants. I don't know if it's because they're boring or afraid, but either way. So, in summation: some people are shiny fliers, but all of you are shiny. All of this works out perfectly in my head, and it's hard to type it out without getting it all confused.