![]() You’re fine working in software development. Your bike is transportation to and subject of the protests you attend. You’re not on Facebook, because, yeah, that’s all you need, THOSE people listening in. ![]() You heard she might have moved back to town, actually. No, you haven’t heard from Jen in many years now. What are you on? What are YOU… ON? You’re on LIFE, man. Perhaps the most accurate term to apply to your situation is “seriously injured and lost in the woods.” You also refer to Paul Thomas Anderson as “ PTA,” and sometimes people don’t know which PTA you’re talking about. Look, you know that the term “ PTA” puts a lot of people off but what if we could remake it in a way to really benefit the school AND the kids? Maybe there could be parents-only events at night, like at the brewpub, like a low-key fundraiser-I mean, hell, maybe your band can play. You’ll inevitably watch any movie The Rock is in. You haven’t had as many Zoom calls with them as you all said you wanted to have. Never been a sports fan but might give hockey another try. You’re nearing a point where you like making pesto more than eating pesto. Multiple someones, actually, and at some point, you just said fuck it and made a spreadsheet to keep track, deleted the spreadsheet, undeleted it, and stored it in a file titled PAST. You’re glad you don’t work in “business development” anymore. ![]() You shake your head at the word “crypto.” Four of your friends are named Josh, and one dead friend is named Josh. He let you come by in the afternoon once and learn about cooking shellfish. You have a lot to say about the little restaurant on the coast where you’ve actually become good friends with the owner. Was that place a dance club? A friend’s house? Were there parties there or just a drug dealer? You may have misplaced your David Foster Wallace books in the last move, or your spouse quietly donated them. You point out where things used to be when you drive around town, but all the things you point out are somewhat shady and confusing. Your son’s friends like you and worry about you but they don’t tell your son this. You’ve never figured out your relationship with the idea of camping. Your son’s friends know not to get you started on amps. What if your own sad dad had more shirts and more of a beard and more debt and more fun, and there was just more of him in general? Your Charles Bronson knowledge doesn’t need to be acknowledged. This is causing a very low-level existential crisis that will vanish in three years. At what point does the artisanal whiskey interest become just alcoholism with a higher word count? You used to think you were once great at soccer, but now you’re not so sure you were ever good at soccer. You should have moved to Brooklyn when you had the chance. You used to sincerely call male friends “brother,” but you stopped. You prefer the smallest possible hardware store with the oldest possible employees. You make your own paella and take super long naps on Saturday.
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