Vortex of Despair

My neighbor is playing a piano sonata and I can hear it through the window. It makes me remember that the world is lovely and how nice it is to be alive and young and able bodied. This is of course in stark contrast to the previous day, when I was waiting and waiting and waiting for a response to a text message that DIDN’T COME fast enough, and I got so worked up that I ended up crying on the phone in an emotional frenzy to my friend Kathryn.

“I know it’s stupid and irrational, but I’m going down the vortex of despair! I know it’s ridiculous, I know, because earlier in the afternoon I was fine, but now I’m waiting for a stupid response and my heart is just falling and there’s probably a million reasons why he’s not writing me back – like he’s asleep – but I feel like I can’t be happy on my own and my every feeling hinges on whether some guy likes me or not.”

When I told her that I felt emotionally handicapped by my dependence on men, she replied, “I know.” And then, after a brief pause, “Adina, when was the last time you ate?”

I had to admit that I had skipped dinner the previous night (because I was too busy sleeping with the aforementioned dude), and I had not yet eaten this evening because I was too busy being depressed about the aforementioned dude. I sat there thinking. I guess I was sort of hungry. I also realized that I was up to my neck in hormones, having doubled my birth control pills so that the aforementioned sex could happen whenever I wanted.

Duh. I am hangry and hormonal. This depression has absolutely nothing to do with reality.

A similar situation happened the previous week, in which I was involved in a very competitive game of Words With Friends. You can already tell that my moment of despair was as serious and life-threatening as a tube sock. It’s embarrassing to admit that what sent me over the edge was that my partner didn’t play his turn for several hours. I know. First world problem. In case you don’t know, Words With Friends is a Scrabble game that you play on your phone when you don’t have anything else to do or you have a lot to do but are procrastinating. The game board doesn’t sit in front of you – it’s an application on your phone that you have to repeatedly refresh or else stare at the screen every three minutes to see if the pop-up message appears letting you know that it’s your turn. Let’s say you’re a sixth grade teacher and you’ve made a resolution to keep your phone in your purse in your desk during class. You’d then only be able to play in the early morning before the kids come and in the afternoon after work. And maybe during your lunch break and your prep period. Maybe once while the kids are busy writing?

Is the part where I tell you I was beating him by over 100 points? Is that relevant? Or that I sent a message about having all vowels in my hands for the third time in a row? Or that his response (without actually playing his hand) was to tell me that I “fucking brag much?”

Another time, I found myself spiraling down the vortex when my Saturday and Sunday plans both got cancelled. I hate being flaked on. I know, everyone hates being flaked on. It’s pure rejection. Unless you have some good excuse like you thought your husband could watch the kids but it turns out that he’s still in Houston for work and you read the calendar wrong and you wish you could drive up to LA but you have a six year old and a four year old and therefore aren’t at liberty to do what you want anymore. So sorry! Ok, I’ll feel fine after my friend Haley flakes out like that, because it makes me feel sorry for her and feel better about my own life, but for everyone else – LAME. I am rejected. And added bonus – now I have to OCCUPY MY TIME.

Last weekend when that happened, I managed to internet for several hours before I reached the crazy place. I called up Kathryn ready to whine and before I could finish the phrase, “….sooooooooo fucking bor—“ she invited me to come over to hang out.

We are kindred spirits. She was bored too. We sat on her couch and ate raspberry licorice and watched a movie about Black hair. I felt 300 percents better.

Back to the Words with Friends. It’s probably appropriate to point out here that my game partner in question (who happens to be the aforementioned sex man) was on vacation in Denver. To watch football. This is the real crux of the despair. His phone scrabble game was not the most important thing. And I am not the most important person. And it’s this big irony because obviously I do not want to be with a guy whose favorite activities in life revolve around virtual games. Or one who does not have other friends. It’s a true fact that I am attracted to people who have too much going on.

So you – I – who’s telling this story? Isn’t this universal? Doesn’t everyone freak out when their not boyfriend goes on radio silence for a few hours while watching football on holiday? After sending a sarcastic message that I misread as plain-old-mean, he carried on and had a life for a few hours. And meanwhile, I sat in my living room and melted in a pool of despair until I called Kathryn and she advised me to eat and stop self-regulating my hormones and--

Ding!

What is that. Is that a text message. Is it better than a text message. Is it a WORDS WITH FRIENDS text message, yes it is.

“Girl! Sorry sarcasm doesn’t come through on here. I’m not mad you fucking hottie.”

Plus, he played his turn.

And with that, my spirits rose one hundred feet in the air and suddenly I was flying amongst clouds and rainbows and unicorns and fairies and I am smiling and happy and the world is lovely and how nice it is to be alive and young and able bodied.