Chapter 2: The Unexamined Life (Or, Everything's Fine Until it Isn't) pt.1

                                                                                   - 1 -
          The last couple weeks since my first entry in this journey log have been fairly quiet for me. There’s all the usual shit going on in the outside world, and we’re now twenty-three days to the national election. But I’m not here to talk about that. This blog is about me and my journey, and this past week has contained a lot more self-reflection and ruminating. And since this is an election year, I decided to stage this log entry as a debate between me and myself and moderated by I. The main reason for that is because this is exactly what I’ve been doing for the past week, and I’ve come to realize two things:
      1. Spending too much time alone with one’s thoughts can lead to a LOT of self-psychoanalysis.
      2. That’s not necessarily a good thing.
     Wednesday of this past week was particularly bad for me. I hadn’t had much sleep the night before (I usually average about 4 ½ hours per night, thanks to the two full time jobs), and I was feeling rather grouchy and annoyed as well as exhausted when I showed up for work at Walmart that morning. As I took up my usual post at the main entrance, steeling myself for another long, boring day of talking to myself, I started thinking about this blog and what my next entry would be. But then I also started asking myself why I was feeling so annoyed and grumpy. Here’s how the conversation went:
          Picture this: a small, cozy study somewhere with lots of bookshelves filled with all kinds of paperbacks and tomes. A large picture window allows the afternoon sun to shine in and gives us a view of a downtown office park in Anywhere, USA. There’s a desk in one corner, near the window, and, in the middle of the room, is a large, high-backed armchair opposite a long, comfy sofa. I’m at one end of the sofa, and seated at the other end is also me. And I’m also seated in the armchair, pen in one hand, notepad in the other. Now, for the sake of visual and organizational clarity, let’s imagine that the “me” seated in the armchair is Patrick Stewart. (I’ve always admired Captain Picard from “Star Trek: The Next Generation. And yes, Patrick is in his Starfleet uniform from the “TNG” era.)
          Seated at the far end of the sofa, opposite me, is Chris Evans. (Because, why not? And no, he’s not in his Captain America uniform. I’m picturing jeans and a plain t-shirt. He’s also a little scruffy since he hasn’t shaved in a couple days.)
          And me, I’m in my Walmart shirt and jeans, feeling a little miffed and uncomfortable.

          PATRICK: Good morning, everyone. Neal, Chris started this meeting by asking you why you’re feeling so grumpy. Let’s start with that.
              ME: Well, for starters, I didn’t sleep very well last night, and I really don’t want to be at work.
        PATRICK: Mm-hmm, mm-hmm. Well, of course, I can understand that. But we all know there’s more going on with you lately than just that. What else is causing your mood today?
I glance at Chris. He just gives me a look that says, This is your session, dude. I’m just along for the ride.
             ME: Well, Patrick, yes I have been doing a lot of thinking lately. (Slight pause.) I just realized it’s been two weeks since I texted with Alfred.
“Alfred” is the name of a guy I met on Tinder back in early June, two days after my birthday, in fact. That’s not his real name, of course, but I’m a fan of Batman, and Alfred seems like a good pseudonym for this guy.
          PATRICK: Ah, yes! You’re right, it has been awhile. Hasn’t he been back from his Florida trip for about ten days now?
            ME: Yeah. At least, I’m pretty sure. He said it was only for that weekend. I kinda wanted to wait this time and see if he would be the one to text me first.
            CHRIS: Dude, face facts. He’s just not that into you. You know it, you just don’t want to admit it.
I shoot him a scathing look, and he just shrugs.
            PATRICK: Now, Chris, let’s not try to be so blunt, shall we? We need to be considerate of everyone’s feelings here. Neal, do you think that this is true? You told Alfred a couple months ago that you were really into him and that you wanted to go on a second date.
            ME: Yeah, I did. And he said he wanted to do on one too. But he also said – in not so many direct words, of course – that he was just too busy with work right now. He literally works seven days a week. Said he’s trying to catch up on his finances from the economic shutdown earlier this year. I suggested we go get a late lunch or early dinner after he’s off one of his early morning shifts. He said he doesn’t like to go out after work. Once he’s home, he’s too tired to do anything else.
         CHRIS: And all you’ve done ever since is just text “Good morning, how’s your day, and goodnight.” You haven’t had a real conversation about anything since that one two months ago.
            ME: Yeah, pretty much.
           CHRIS: And now it’s been two weeks since you heard from him at all.
            ME: (looking out the window, scowling) Yeah.
            CHRIS: He’s not that into you.
I continue looking out the window. He’s right, dammit. This makes me even more grouchy and irritated. I can feel the other two waiting patiently as I stew in silence. In the outside world, I greet a few more customers as they walk in the door.
            ME: (giving a resigned sigh) It’s probably just as well. I doubt he and I had that much in common to begin with. And there’s been so much that’s happened with me in these last 3 months that he probably wouldn’t understand.
           CHRIS: So why does that bother you so much? You’ve never cared about having a boyfriend or being in a long term relationship. You’ve always been perfectly happy on your own.
I have no answer. He’s right again, dammit! Patrick just looks at me, his expression calm and patient, and I look out the window again.
Why does this bother me so much now?
 
                                                           - 2 -
          I couldn’t even tell you why I created that stupid account on Tinder in the first place. I suppose I was bored, as I had a lot of time on my hands with not much to do. And everyone keeps talking about that app, how it’s great for hookups and general dating. And, at first, I didn’t make any connections with guys that appeared to be worth talking to. All of them were either in a relationship and looking for a threesome, or they just wanted to hook up, or they didn’t have any hobbies or interests that were even remotely similar to mine, or they weren’t even in my geographical area. (I could never figure out why Tinder kept showing me guys from Spain or Europe or Mexico when I had specifically adjusted my location settings in my profile to show me only guys from a 20 mile radius around my zip code.)
          But then, a mere two days after creating that profile, Alfred matched with me. He swiped right on my profile first. (He made the first move, in other words.) Once Tinder notified me I checked out his profile. Age: 49. His pics and his description of likes and interests seemed pretty decent, so I swiped right as well. After we matched, I sent him a greeting, and – unlike ALL the other guys with whom I had matched in those two days (which wasn’t many) – Alfred actually responded to my message. We hit it off right away. We spent an hour chatting. We exchanged phone numbers and began texting regularly the very next morning.
           We met for a first date a couple weeks later. I was super nervous, and, because there were only a few restaurants back in early June that had just reopened their dining rooms, we chose Farmer Boys for brunch at ten. I, of course, arrived about fifteen minutes early (that type ‘A’ personality trait, remember?), and Alfred arrived on time. There was the usual initial awkwardness and stilted small talk. But after we ordered, and after we both overcame our nervousness, we hit it off pretty well. There was no awkward lags or uncomfortable silences. He seemed really nice and outgoing, and neither of us hogged the whole conversation. We filled each other in on our respective bios, he told me about his job and I told him all about mine. We talked about Black Lives Matter and some of the other political stuff going on in the news at the time. I was still a democrat at that time, so we both seemed to have similar political views. Alfred hated Trump – and still does, as far as I know – and I told him that I didn’t really follow politics. I wasn’t even planning to vote. (You all know, of course, how radically that all has changed for me since then.)
          Put simply, that first date went super well! It lasted almost two and a half hours, and we both agreed to continue texting and that we should do a second date soon. I left the restaurant feeling damn near giddy. Maybe 2020 wasn’t going to be such a shit year after all.
          And we did continue texting. We had some really good conversations in the ensuing weeks. One of them was a rather heated debate about Black Lives Matter and the call for defunding the police. Alfred was all for it, and I tried to convince him of the error of his views. We stayed civil with one another, and the fact that we could agree to disagree and move on was another encouraging sign. We greeted each other via text every morning, and signed off the same way every night. Throughout the day we would chat here and there, mostly during our respective break times at work, and the more I chatted with him, the more I started to fall in love.
          But, as this was my first attempt at actual dating, I couldn’t be sure if he felt the same way about me. He seemed genuinely interested, but we had never had a face to face conversation since our first date. And since Alfred preferred texting to actual phone calls – which I was also fine with – I couldn’t get a very good read on him. Just the fact that he was always responding to my texts was a good sign, but our conversations were getting shorter and shorter. By mid-August we were reduced to – as Chris just now so eloquently put it – saying little more to each other than “Good morning, how’s your day, goodnight.”
          So I decided to just go for it and put myself out there. I texted Alfred one afternoon as he was leaving work. I told him that I was really into him, that I had been thoroughly enjoying our conversations, and that the more we talked, the more I was falling for him. I waited anxiously after sending the text, one finger tapping nervously on the side of my phone. The symbol with the three dots in a shaded oval appeared on my screen and seemed to stay there for an eternity. When his response finally came through, I grinned with immense relief. He felt the same way! We chatted for a bit longer, and then I had to go to work.
          But the end of August arrived with still no ETA on a second date. Alfred and I continued texting, but, once again, neither of us said much more than “Good morning, how’s your day, goodnight.” We were both working super long hours. I had been with Walmart for almost 2 months by now and had barely enough time between jobs to eat and sleep. But, even with my crazy hectic schedule, I still had an occasional evening during the week free. I brought up the subject of a second date a couple times with Alfred, but his responses were vague and non-committal. I even asked him once point blank if he still wanted to get together sometime, and he assured me he did. His work schedule was just super hectic at the time. I backed off, not wanting to create a fight, but my frustration rose another notch. I decided to give him until the end of September. If he couldn’t commit to a second date by then, we would need to have a heart to heart.
          Then, in the third week of September, Alfred informed me he was going to Florida for a few days to help an old friend after her surgery. He was leaving Wednesday the 23rd and he would be back either Saturday or Sunday. I wished him safe travels and told him to get some rest since he’d been working like crazy for the last couple months. He thanked me and then we said our usual goodnights.
          That was 2 ½ weeks ago, and I haven’t heard from him since.
 
                                                           - 3 -
              CHRIS: Just text him.
            ME: I don’t want to. I want to see if he’s still interested. I want him to be the first to text this time.
            CHRIS: Ok fine.
           All three of us sit in silence. I purposely avoid their gazes.
            ME: Ok fine, I’ll text him.
          Out in the real world, I pull my phone from my front pocket and shoot off a quick greeting to Alfred: a simple “Good morning. (Smiley face emoji) How’s it going?”
            ME: There. Now we wait.
            CHRIS: What are you going to do if he doesn’t respond?
          ME: (exasperated sigh) I don’t know! I guess you’re right. He’s just not that into me.
            PATRICK: And that understandably upsets you.
        ME: Yes, it does. And Chris is right. I don’t know why this bothers me so much now.
            CHRIS: I know why.
            ME: Of course you do.
         CHRIS: It’s simple. You’re lonely. And not just regular lonely. You’re tragically, desperately, sadly lonely. You have been for years. That’s why you finally created the Tinder profile, that’s why you fell so hard when you met Alfred, and that’s why you’re so upset and grouchy today. You’re lonely, and it hurts.
          I glare at him, furious. But then I have to look away because, suddenly, I feel like crying. And, out in the real world, I have to blink a lot to force back the tears. I smile and greet some more customers.
            CHRIS: Sorry to be so blunt, but it’s obvious.
          ME: All right, fine. So I’m lonely. Since you have all the answers, tell me why that bothers me so much just now. It’s never been an issue before. So what’s changed? Why now?
            CHRIS: (shrugs) Actually, I don’t know. That’s a good question.
We both look at Patrick. He glances at each of us in turn, also puzzled.
          PATRICK: That is a good question. Maybe we should explore why you chose a long time ago to not be interested in romantic relationships.
          ME: (shrugs) I don’t know. I just…. I was never interested in having one. I was perfectly happy on my own, and I never saw the point of having a boyfriend. I was happier with the occasional hookup or the friends with benefits I had in college.
           PATRICK: Mm-hmmm. You made a conscious choice when you were young to be alone, but now, at 42, you’re having a hard time living with that choice.
            ME: (frowning) Well, yes, I suppose that’s one way of putting it.
            CHRIS: I think I know why you made that choice.
            ME: (rolling my eyes) Oh really? You just said a second ago you didn’t know.
           CHRIS: I had to think about it for a minute. You were bullied and picked on when you were a kid. You never really fit in with the other boys. You were always happier playing dress up with the girls, or sitting under a tree at recess reading a book. We’ve talked about this before, remember?
          I do remember. And, as usual, he brings up a valid point. I’ve been thinking a lot lately about those years in elementary school. I wasn’t a normal boy. I had no interest in sports. I did enjoy the occasional game of cops and robbers or tag, but most of the time I could be found under a tree with a book in hand or playing dolls with the girls in one corner of the playground. There was a few times when I would go to another girl’s house for a play date and I loved putting on dresses and jewelry and pretending to be the wife. This, of course, drew lots of ridicule and shaming from my male classmates at recess. I didn’t care, though – or, at least, I pretended not to.
          However, in retrospect, I’m starting to see how that ridicule and being made fun of has affected me in different ways over the course of my life. In elementary school, I wasn’t a model student. I would act out in class and get sent to the principal’s office quite a lot. I had to repeat the first grade because I didn’t do so hot the first time around. (My parents attributed this to starting kindergarten too early.) It also didn’t help that I was smarter than most of my classmates. I’m not saying that to brag. It’s a simple fact. I caught on to general concepts and lessons a bit quicker than everyone else, and I was also an excellent reader. The school library was my second home, and I was always complaining to my teachers and parents that I could check out only two books at a time. By the time I was in 3rd grade I was joining the 4th grade class a couple times a week for math or reading lessons. And it was also about this time that I started expressing more interest in the girly things like dress-up and playing with My Little Pony horses. I even had a pony of my own – white body with a glittery, purple mane. It came with a pink brush and a barrette. (Damn, I miss those wonderful toys of the 80s!)
          In later years, I’ve come to realize that all the bullying and ridicule in elementary school caused me to lash out in other ways – usually in class, but mostly at home. I was always fighting with my three brothers and my parents, and this got worse as I got older. By the time puberty hit – which, of course, was about a year earlier than my male classmates – I was used to being made fun of by the other kids at my school. I was also used to coping with this by retreating to my room at home after school to read or play with my “Star Trek” toys. Or I would pick a fight with my brothers who also loved to tease and make fun of me.
          And then, as I entered junior high, I started to realize that there was something fundamentally different about me. All my classmates had begun expressing interest in the opposite sex, but I felt nothing when I was around the girls. (By this point, obviously, I was no longer playing dress-up with my female friends or going to their houses for play dates. My parents and I had agreed this was not a good idea, though I wasn’t entirely sure why at the time.) Around my male classmates, however, I was feeling something different. A couple of them I found attractive, in fact, but instinct told me I should never say that aloud or even outwardly hint at that attraction in any way.
          I was also socially awkward in the worst possible way. It was probably because of all the torment in elementary school, but I had also always been a natural introvert. I was never the life of the party. And, because I was attending a private school, the same classmates who had made fun of me in 3rd grade for playing with dolls with the girls at recess instead of soccer with the boys were now my friends in 7th grade who were starting to pass notes to one another during class. I’m sure there was one or two girls that I exchanged notes with at some point, but I only did it to fit in with the boys. I had no interest whatsoever in whether or not the girls actually responded.
      And, as if the first glimmer of homosexuality combined with super awkward, underdeveloped social skills wasn’t enough, I was also turning into a bone fide nerd in 7th and 8th grades. I was 9 years old when “Star Trek: The Next Generation” premiered in 1987, and I would watch it with my mom every week. I fell in love with that show from the start, and I was a geek long before it was cool. Nowadays, everyone is proud to be a sci-fi nerd, as the box office success of the Marvel Cinematic Universe can readily prove. But back in the early 90s, as I suffered through junior high, being a “Star Trek” fan was just one more thing to be made fun of by my classmates.
          So, as a result of all of this, I started to create a mask for myself. I would put on a good face every morning, go to school and pretend everything was fine while enduring constant teasing and “good natured” ribbing from my classmates about all sorts of things, and then go home at night and fight with my brothers or parents about any number of things. (My brothers loved to make fun of my nerdiness as well.) Sometimes I would wear the mask at home and pretend everything was fine with my family, but in the solitude of my room, with the door closed, I would take it off and pretend that I was a Starfleet officer on the bridge of the starship “Enterprise”. No one on that crew made of one another. Everyone worked together in harmony, and they all celebrated their differences. In fact, being different was a strength, not a weakness. I so desperately wanted to live in that world that that TV show became an almost unhealthy obsession throughout the rest of my teen years.
          In 9th grade I finally realized what was fundamentally different with me. I was gay. It was now the early 90s, and we had cable TV in our house. My brothers and I would sneak behind our parents’ backs to watch some of the prime time comedies that we’d been told we weren’t supposed to watch. The gay social movement exploded in mainstream America in the 90s, though it had been building momentum for quite some time before then. As with all things relating to nerds or geeks, it was not cool to be gay in the early 90s, especially if you were a teenager. Adults who dared to be out and proud faced discrimination at work and alienation from family and friends. Soldiers and officers in the American military were courts-martialed and stripped of rank for coming out of the closet. The surest way to end the career of any Hollywood celebrity was to accuse them in the tabloids of being gay.
          In today’s public schools, it’s considered weird or strange if you’re NOT gay, or at least bi. Back then, I longed for someone I could talk to about this, but because I was attending a private school run by a Baptist church in a red state in a town with a population of less than 40,000, I had no support group whatsoever. There was no school counselor with a pamphlet on the local PFLAG group. There was no student club with other gay students that I could hang out with after school. There was no internet chat room where I could talk to an understanding stranger about my feelings and struggles. Fuck, there wasn’t even the internet back then. My only resource for exploring my sexuality was the public library across town, but back then there was precious little literature on the subject of being gay. And, even if by some miracle I was able to find such a book, I would have to sneak it home and hide it from my parents.
          All I knew about homosexuality was preached at me from the pulpit at church on Sundays and Wednesday night youth group meetings. Not that the subject came up that often, but when it did, it was always in the context of Sodom and Gomorrah. For example, “Look at what God did to the Sodomites who were practicing idol worship and homosexuality.” Or, “It’s unnatural for two people of the same sex to be together. God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.” (To my knowledge, that last quote was never specifically said aloud by any of my pastors or teachers, but the gist of it was stated in some form or another in a sermon here and there.) I also have an odd memory from early childhood of my father bringing up this subject during one of his nightly devotions with me and my brothers. I couldn’t have been more than 10 or 11, and I distinctly remember sitting beside my brother Jeremy, who was probably 8 or 9, and dad was reading us a Bible story. (It was probably just us older two boys. The twins would have been about 5 at this time.) I don’t remember what the story was, but I do distinctly remember Jeremy asking my dad, “What’s homosexuality?” This was my dad’s response: “It’s when men have sex with other men. It’s disgusting! It makes me want to puke!”
          It’s strange how specific words or pieces of a scene can stick in your memory for so many years. I carried that vehement statement with me in the back of my mind for many years afterwards, well into junior high or high school. It’s how I knew I could never, ever tell my parents about what I was struggling with, and I got to the point where I wore my mask very well. I bided my time until high school graduation, and I almost made it to the finish line without any hiccups.
          Almost.
 
                                                            - 4 -
          My senior year was 1996-97. One of the requirements for me and my 9 classmates – the same group of kids who had tormented me relentlessly in elementary school, but with whom I was now close friends – was a Bible class called “Understanding The Times”. It was designed to equip young Christians with the necessary religious reasoning and skills to guard and defend their faith as they entered a Godless and corrupt world. An example of the topics in this class: abortion, homosexuality, rock music, pop culture & politics. My friends and I loathed this class. We made fun of these topics and assignments – as well as the teacher – outside the classroom. (The teacher was Mr. Best – a true nerd in every way, especially in appearance. He was tall, pencil thin, with large glasses, a thick moustache, and a long nose. I still cringe when I think about the crush I had on him in my junior high years.) Being typical teenagers, we had already done our share of rebellious activities, i.e. the occasional weekend party where alcohol had made an appearance. (Actually, I should say “they” had done those activities. I was never part of the “in” crowd in high school, despite the microscopic size of my class, so I was never cool enough to be part of anything rebellious.)
          By this point in my life I had become quite comfortable with being gay. I believed quite firmly and without a doubt that I had been born this way. I couldn’t really tell you for sure why, but I knew that. I knew it in my bones. And I was fine with it. I was, however, not anywhere close to being fine with all the religious bullshit that had been shoved down my throat for the last 17 years of my life. My brothers and I were born and raised in the church. My father insisted on all of us being present ANY time those damn doors were open for service. And I do mean, ANYTIME. Sunday morning, Sunday evening, Wednesday evening youth group, and especially anytime there was a special week-long revival event. That was when a visiting pastor or an evangelist would be passing through town and a good, old fashioned church service would be held every weeknight. I grew to loathe these special services, as they would often happen in the summer, and I could think of a thousand things I would rather be doing on a warm, breezy July evening than forced to sit in church and listen to some guy rant and rave about the sins of the world.
          So, in the spring of ’97, as our graduation date neared, and as my friends and I endured this terrible Bible class where our teacher lectured us on the evils of premarital sex and rock music, I had finally decided that I had had enough. One of our assignments towards the end of March, about six weeks from graduation, was to write a paper on a topic that I can’t even remember now. What I do remember very clearly, however, was that I stated in this paper, in no uncertain terms, was that I was an Atheist. I did not believe in God, in Heaven or Hell, or pretty much anything in the Bible. I proudly handed that paper to my teacher on the day it was due and walked out of class feeling a bit giddy and anxious. I really didn’t think anything other than a failing grade was going to come of this.
          One thing about teenagers: we really don’t think through the consequences of our actions.
         I was called into the principal’s office two days later. Mr. Walker was seated behind his desk and my dad was seated in front of the desk. My mind immediately began racing through the past couple weeks, trying to remember if there was something my friends and I had done that violated church rules. I had already forgotten about that stupid Bible class assignment. But when I sat down, and when Mr. Walker read aloud what I had written in that paper, I started to think that maybe – just maybe – I had crossed a line. This is another memory where I have a clear record of the actual dialogue:
            MR. WALKER: Neal, I’m going to ask you think once, and you need to think carefully about your answer. (Pause) Do you really, truly believe what you wrote here? Or was this just another way to get back at Mr. Best?
I did think…for about 2.5 seconds.
            ME: Yes, I believe it. A hundred percent. There’s no God, no afterlife, and I’m an Atheist.
           MR. WALKER: (giving me a serious, measured look) I’m sorry to hear that, Neal. I’m afraid we can’t accept you here as a student any longer. If this was just some kind of acting out, or if you were just being argumentative, that would be one thing. But if you actually believe this, then there’s no place for you here. We’re going to have to expel you immediately.
He turned to my dad and they started talking, but I don’t remember what that was.
          All I could think was: FREE AT LAST!!! FREE AT LAST!!! HECK YEAH, I'M FREE AT LAST!!!!
          I was so excited I could hardly contain myself. I practically floated out of that office, and I was grinning ear to ear all the way home. I even almost ran a red light because I wasn’t paying attention. All I could think was that I was finally free! No more preaching, no more lecturing, no more stupid Bible class! I was free of all of it!!!
          Only later that afternoon, as I reflected on what I had done, did the full weight finally come crashing down on me. I wasn’t going to walk the aisle at my own graduation.
          Aawwww crap!
         But, what was done was done. Yes, there was major fallout in all corners of my life – and my family’s lives – from my little act of rebellion. I eventually came to terms with what I had done, and, in all honesty, I have accomplished so much more in my life since then that has meant far more to me than getting expelled six weeks before high school graduation. Graduating Boise State University with a Bachelor’s in English, for one. And, ever since that declaration, I have been a proud and determined Atheist. I walked away from the church, the religion, the Bible – all of it. I wanted nothing more to do with God or any of his followers, and, until 2020, I’d been very happy with that choice.
          And now…back to my little session with Patrick Stewart and Chris Evans.
 
                                                             - 5 -
            ME: (still looking out the window, talking mainly to myself) It wasn’t just because of the religion or being gay. It was all of it. I’ve been ridiculed, bullied, and made fun of ever since 2nd grade. I’ve always been different in many ways. I’ve never, ever felt as if I belonged somewhere, especially as a teenager. There was nowhere to be my complete, truest self. Not even at home. I’ve always been the outsider, the outcast, the one looking at the “in” crowd and longing desperately, with all of my being, to fit in somewhere. Longing to be normal. But I’ve never been normal.
             I turn to Chris.
            ME: You were right. I’ve been lonely my entire life. Desperately, sadly, tragically lonely. I learned early on to build a wall around myself to protect me from the bullying and the cruelty of the other kids. And then, in junior high and high school, I fortified that wall, made it thicker and stronger. It was the only way to survive. And then, somewhere along the way, I became so comfortable with it that I didn’t realize it was even there. But it’s always been there, and I’ve kept everyone in my life at arm’s length. I never let them get inside the wall. Not even my family is allowed inside.
           It was at this point that I became truly choked up and damn near broke down in the lobby of Walmart. I don’t know why it took 23 years to arrive at such an obvious revelation, but there it was. Even as I write this I’m having to pause and blink back the tears. I hate feeling this way. I hate that I now have to live with a vow that my younger self blindly, stupidly made. Almost everyone I know – including my brothers – is happily married with kids or, at the very least, in a relationship with someone special. I am alone. I have spent my whole life marching to the beat of my own crazy, wacked out drummer that I never bothered to check just exactly where it was I was marching to; or, for that matter, if I was even staying on the damn football field. And, as I said already, I had accomplished so much in my life since walking away from those troubled, angst-filled teen years that being single was never a big deal. I used to be thoroughly, genuinely happy by myself. I’ve never needed that whole, clichéd, stupid rom-com story: boy meets boy in meet cute, lots of misunderstandings and contrived plot points ensue, boy and boy end up happily ever after. Romantic relationships are ridiculous and unnecessary in order to live a happy, fulfilled life. I believed that then, and I still believe it now.
        CHRIS: Uh-huh. So why does the fact that Alfred still hasn’t responded to the text you sent an hour ago bother you so deeply?
I’ve returned my gaze to the window, but Chris’ statement causes me to turn. I glare at him with such rage that he actually recoils.
          CHRIS: Uh, never mind. Forget I asked.
          ME: Screw you!
          I get up and leave the room.
       My shift at Walmart is over. I’m headed home for a much needed nap and then some play time with my Nintendo Switch. I’ve had enough self-induced psychoanalysis for one day.
 
                                                 TO BE CONTINUED…