I think I might be lonely.
And not in that oh, she’s just missing her college friends sort of way but in a truly disturbing and possibly debilitating sort of way.
Like, for example, because I don’t really have anyone that I want to hang out with, I’ve just been reading a lot. I just finished three books in four days and am now seriously wondering if my best friend is a girl from the future who is no longer made out of human parts but some blue bio gel instead.
And as cool as that is, it doesn’t do much for my social calendar seeing as she’s in some dystopian teen universe and I’m here in San Francisco in the real world. But even when I was considering whether or not to invite this fictional character to my birthday in a few months, I still didn’t really grasp onto the fact that this new-formed friendship was stemming from a serious issue: my loneliness.
I think I just thought maybe I wanted to read a bit more than usual because I had run out of shows on Netflix.
But then, today, as I was washing my hands at my office’s sink, I was confronted with the harsh reality of my situation.
You see, as I washing my hands, I happened to take notice of one of our two soap dispensers (one is for hand-washing and the other is for dishwashing).
The brand of soap that we use happens to be called “Method” and as I’m staring at it, my mind I starts referring to the soap dispenser as a person. And not just as any person but as “Method Man”. You know the rapper…
Wu Tang Clan ain’t nothin’ to fuck with and neither is the depth of my depravity apparently.
So, all of a sudden I’ve given this soap bottle a personality and I’m like yup, we’ve got one thug guy over here.
And I’m like bobbin’ my head around as I wash my hands and grinning at this soap dispenser like we’re pals saying “It’s the method man, ain’t no if’s and’s about it.”
Then I look to the other soap dispenser because I am waiting for it to pick up Ghostface’s line and I’m just staring at it for a while before I realize that there will be no such follow up because I have been hallucinating an entire show centered around our office’s sink.
But, instead of just drying my hands with a paper towel and heading back to my desk, I have to let out a “Method Man Out” hiss and throw down a B-boy stance because I’m a terribly white female living out my dreams of someday being cool.
So, you see, I am terribly alone and need someone to save me from my own imaginations. Next time this might not happen in the kitchen of my office. Next time this could happen in a public space and then I won’t be able to stop anyone from kicking my ass.