“So… what now?”
The usual scenario: sat on my red sofabed after work, feeling lazy and uninspired. Drinking a protein shake, because I was supposed to go to the gym today. I stare at my laptop screen and she stares back at me. We know each other. We sort of like each other, although we despise each other on occasion. And that’s how it starts. The creative flow slowly unravels and falls upon the keys, hitting them, one by one.
Have you ever stop seeing someone which whom you had a close relationship with and, after a long time, met them again? Have you felt the need to tell that someone just about everything that has happened, but ended up simply remaining silent? That’s how I feel now. There’s a plethora of things I want to say -or feel I should say-, but they are clogged inside of me.
My phone makes a beeping sound. I get distracted by Tinder, and I come down from the elevated Temple of Creation to my pathetic human nature. I type away needy messages on the app, searching, hunting. This would be my date number what? 20? 25? Shit, that’s quite a lot of dating in 9 months. I wish there was a direct correlation with the number of dates and the fucking performed, but the percentage is very marginal. Yet, here I go at it, sending emojis and challenging myself to be as witty as humanly possible. Surely I’m coming out as horny and desperate as every other guy out there.
And a pause.
Back in the sofa, just arrived from a meetup with the Copenhagen Creative Studio guys, I continue the typing. It was a nice gathering tonight. I showed my new tattoo, talked about my unfinished novel, had a few laughs and met for the second time the prettiest girl I have seen in quite a while. Also -and I reckon it was quite a coincidence- I happened to end up chatting with someone new in the group, who knows me from the past. Three years ago, to be precise. A time in which I lived in Chile and used to “date” her friend, a Danish girl. Isn’t the world a small place?
Now, drinking a relaxing chamomile tea, I find myself a tad confused. A new Tinder date is on the way, I am considering getting back in touch with a girl I mistreated a couple of years ago and my writing has been praised again. Amidst all of this, I’m finishing a column that was going to be about how uneventful my current life is. A writer never rests, does he?