Sorry I wore sweatpants on your birthday
I dread all social situations. I turn bouncy houses into graveyards. I pray that the roller coaster gets stuck at the landing dock so I can score half-priced ticket coupons and never go back. I bring up spiders once everyone forgets. The sun is too bright. Avoid humidity at all costs. If I got ice cream on my hands, I’d die before I ever reached the sink.
I can’t even buy milk without being scared and aggravated. I try to pass through the coffee aisle and a lady is just standing there, unaware, looking at K cups like the coffee aisle is 30 miles into the woods and there’s no way a polite young man is patiently trying to pass to get some skim.
I hope it’s a phase. I know it’s me and it’s probably forever but I hope it’s a phase. I hope I can go into a city once without holding a key between my fingers, hands shaking in my coat, and sobbing. I went to a party earlier and strangers were screaming and play fighting and touching sex zones in well lit rooms and I have never wanted to be home more in my life. I think everyone was on ecstasy but what the hell, other people that exist? What the hell? People and youtube dance crazes; when I was young, one day I thanked God for my eyes.
One dude was smoking a cigar inside the house. I’m not talking black and milds, either. This dude smoked a giant cigar while dancebanging his girlfriend. The oxygen snuck out through the chimney.
Sometimes, I want to stay in my bed until everyone is thirty and somewhere else.
