You're In Your 30s... Why Would Your Friends Call You?
This post contains lethal doses of sarcasm if read irresponsibly.
Beyond “fix your resting bitch face” and “try not to say ‘like’ so many times,” it’s tough to say that I go into an average day in my young-30s with anything like a goal in mind. I want to be good at my job and I try to be adventurous insofar that it doesn’t involve me being at a bar past 11 PM, but given that I drudge through the days in various configurations and at several different paces, it seems unfair to expect me to have an idea of what “having a goal” would mean in this context. If I had to explain it, setting some goals would include a combination of receiving a promotion and a raise so inflation can bleed more money out of me, dedicating myself to process-oriented self-improvement with about equal rigor and energy, and if possible, serious excursions into spontaneous behavior.
I am biased in a number of very obvious ways, so my competency in following through with any of these lofty ambitions maybe be circumspect at best, but I at least try to give a fairly earnest and thoughtful assessment of my quirks and perversities.
When some friends have for some time been effectively off the map, the window for doing dope shit—or things you previously conceived as “dope shit”—gets worringly shorter and more fraught, and in such foreboding ways. Some will text you for the first time in roughly six months, and deciphering their intentions or where this interaction may lead has much to do with wishcasting as it does with projection. If a friend actually calls you, however, this is historically and preposterously noteworthy because they either want to let you know they’re pregnant or they just bought a few grams of mushrooms and want to see what you’re up to this weekend.
The first option is a vexingly general announcement of bringing new life into this universe. The latter invites a towering and harrowing combination of risk and reward. The mushrooms are linked with some ominousness, an invitation to ingest them at a cemetery to try to communicate with dead relatives.
Both scenarios deliver a mysterious and tantalizing update. And when you are suddenly subject to the unique pressures of responding to each, it is strange to realize your reaction to pending newborns and ingesting illicit narcotics is exactly the same.
You shriek into the phone, “AHHHH—this is so exciting!”
Brief read, but what a pleasure read! Good Stuff!
I wish my friends would hit me up to do mushrooms