The Coffee Shop Diaries
You know who goes to coffee shops on Saturday nights? Me and hormonal teenagers who are not yet of drinking age. I am currently surrounded by teenagers who are making out and will probably sneak having sex after they finish their croissant and iced tea, while I go home and think about how I have not had sex in almost two years and, then, will eat a piece of cheese. I mean, I suspect I will eat cheese. I can't be too sure. I think that’s the only thing I have in the refrigerator right now.
On the other side of me is a group of 15 students, I don’t know, it looks like a debate or activist group of marginally good looking teens who are not struggling with hormonal acne like I was at their age. I mean, come on? Good for them. Getting out and not having to hide and use Clearasil at home on a Saturday night. Does Clearasil even exist anymore? I’m sure I’m dating myself. I mean by my words and age and, also, I am dating myself. I am in a sexless relationship with myself.
And while I can drink alcohol I am opting not to because I think chocolate is a better replacement for feelings of ecstasy and a high wherein I will not make a poor decision. Why have booze, really? I only end up making decisions I regret afterwards, whether it’s the full fledge belief that ordering chicken fingers and ranch is a good idea at 1am or entertaining the thought of taking home a dude I think might be hot only to realize he has a missing tooth or an extra toe. Or, I think he’s cute, we go to bed too soon and I never hear from him again anyway. Chocolate drinks are safe. Right now, at 43, I am striving for safety.
Let the hormonal teenagers have their emotions played with, I’m done. I’m free.
Long gone are my days of drinking and partying. A nice glass of wine with dinner, sure, but I’ve made a vow to not cave to excessive drinking anymore. Why? Read above, and I feel like shit the next day. I can stop myself after one chocolate drink, but one Negroni and then a side eye from a guy will undoubtedly turn in to “Hello, sir, may I have another?”
It's kind of a miracle I’m only having a chocolate drink on a Saturday night and not seeking food, drinks and or temporary companionship in light of my enormous life changes. I am also taking this as a sign that I am actually dealing with my shit in an adult way as opposed to numbing it with food, booze and boys. But I can’t lie, I fantasize about going backwards. It’s really easy to get dressed, go to a bar, seek attention, go home with someone for some fucked up form of approval and validation, then feel like shit the next day. Old patterns are hard to break - even when we know that they’re toxic. But I’m soberly choosing to sit in my own shit right now, on my own, and deal with it. I’m here writing. I’ve been alone all day.
I want to get addicted to moving forward, and I will.
And if those kids can tell me how they keep their hormonal skin clear and blemish free, well, that would be a bonus.