by Megan Boyle
4:14PM: heard a crash. walked around opening cabinet doors to scare fruit flies. texted chelsea that i’d fallen asleep. asked if she wanted to hang out after danny landlord picks up rent around 6PM. texted jordan to see if he still wants me to send him a moneygram, if he knows his e.t.a.
mentally replaying details of the last night i saw [omitted]. mom said something like ‘people can’t go from despairing to feeling okay, getting angry is a way to jumpstart yourself out of wallowing.’ he doesn’t know that i know he lied. i figured it out. there wasn’t time for him to shower between sex with the other girl and seeing me. he said they used a condom. i would’ve tasted or smelled the condom when i gave him the blowjob. succumbed to urge to text him something mean, followed by the shitty princess ‘i’d like it if you didn’t respond.’
i think shirley was the one who peed. four times on the mattress and comforter. hell ride.
5:16PM: loaded comforter and sheets in washing machine and walked upstairs. searched room for quarters. i need more quarters. wrote rent check for danny landlord, waved it to dry ink, folded in my back pocket.
walked to pickles & pies to get quarters, then buy groceries from waldbaum’s for jordan’s visit. thought ‘he hasn’t responded, the moneygram place closes at 9PM so i can’t send him gas money after that, 9PM is coming up, he would’ve said if he needed money by now. maybe.’
chelsea texted that she was taking her ex-boyfriend out for a birthday dinner tonight, and that i should bring jordan to his birthday party tomorrow. withdrew $60 from ATM outside pickles & pies. $28 left in checking account. paid for e-cigarette refills with cash and asked for two dollars in quarters. cashier didn’t seem to count change, handed me a lot of quarters. walked outside. it was raining lightly.
standing as if stopped on the sidewalk ahead, a figure in a black cape stared at the vacant storefront next to pickles & pies. walked closer and excitedly recognized olivia, my old friend and boss, under the cape. it wasn’t her. the caped woman stared at the storefront like she had travelled hours and made great sacrifices to arrive at this spot, where she had been told a person would be waiting to give her further instructions, and the person still hadn’t shown up. i thought ‘maybe ask her if she needs help,’ but continued walking. a few seconds later i heard a woman’s voice behind me. the voice sounded upset. i thought ‘it’s the caped woman, she called the person who never showed up.’ the further i walked, the louder and faster the voice sounded. heard ‘your lies’ and ‘another two-thousand years of this shit.’ turned and locked eyes with the caped woman, who looked like she’d been directing boundless ancient anger at my head since i’d passed. she was following me. people on the street (man in basketball shorts, old person with a walker, two or three others i think) watched us with blank expressions. i focused my eyes on the distance ahead as i walked, and thought ‘do people think i robbed her, she looks wealthy, do they think we’re related, who looks crazier: me or her? she’s yelling and wearing a cape: slightly crazier, maybe. should i say something to her, what would i say, ‘two-thousand years of this’ is funny.’ the woman continued following me and yelling. turned in her direction and avoided eye contact as i smiled exagerratedly and ‘twinkle-waved’ my fingers in a way that, considering the rage i had somehow triggered in her, could’ve been interpreted as ‘a tauntingly mischevious sign of the devil.’ turned right into a post office parking lot, which is a short-cut to waldbaum’s. thought ‘this is where it would make sense for someone to stop following me, right? is she going to waldbaum’s too? does she know about the short-cut? no one would see her beat me up, no one is ever in the post office parking lot.’ pictured her beating me to the ground by a mail truck, then taking my wallet. i’d have to let the comforter air-dry. felt a little afraid. decided to keep my face forward until i got to waldbaum’s. her yelling was fast but coherent. it sounded like she had been waiting to say these things for a long time. heard ‘i know where you’re from, you’re from [something] township, you and your [something], you just think [something], that’s all you do,’ then after a few seconds, ‘asshole.’ that was the last thing. ‘asshole.’ it was quiet but i didn’t want to turn around. two men passed. didn’t think they made it in time for the ‘asshole’ but i still looked at them as if they saw, like, gave them a ‘visual shrug’ (combination of ‘beats me’ + ‘get a load of this’). crossed the waldbaum’s parking lot, anticipating the woman’s face eerily silent and close behind me. didn’t turn until i was close to the entrance. she was gone.
walked around waldbaum’s putting kale, five oranges, bananas, cherries, two avocados, a cucumber, watermelon, lemon, lime, 12 cat food cans, 12-pack 8.4oz sugar-free red bulls, flour tortillas, sabra ‘classic’ hummus, and toilet paper into a plastic cage-like carton with handles. i wanted to go to waldbaum’s so that 1) i could finally get a waldbaum’s savings card, 2) i could use the self-checkout to buy condoms, and 3) if the self-checkouts weren’t working, whoever rang me up might not notice condoms among the variety of things i was buying. i’ve only bought condoms once, i think, with my boyfriend at the time. the person overseeing the self-checkout saw us and said ‘have a good night.’ we laughed and joked about the ‘good night’ we were about to have as we exited the store.
walked to the first aid aisle to look for condoms. two women were in the aisle. thought ‘they’re onto me.’ couldn’t get a good look, but it didn’t seem like there would be condoms. thought ‘shit, that’s right, condoms are an ‘asking people’ thing. they make the worst things ‘asking people’ things. [pictured myself asking pickles & pies employee for condoms]. all the employees know me, they can’t know i want to buy condoms, then they’d know i have sex, i don’t want to add that to our dynamic. they’d be less friendly and flirt more aggressively. maybe i’ll just ask jordan to pull out. no, scary, you can still get pregnant, scary, out of birth control, scary.’
remembered duane reade. thought ‘there won’t be enough time to go to duane reade before danny landlord’s 6-7PM window to pick up rent. he hasn’t texted back either. nobody’s texting me back. it’s okay. karma. make jordan buy condoms maybe. maybe he has condoms. condoms suck. what if jordan shows up in a few hours without ever texting me back, did something happen, did he get in trouble, maybe his phone died, the comfortor will be in the dryer when he shows up, what if it still smells like cat pee, shit. no, it’s okay.’
waited in a makeshift line at the customer service area where i thought waldbaum’s savings cards were distributed. two older men were ahead of me in line. the first man was returning a large cylindrical container of pretzel sticks. he looked unhappy. after his transaction he looked at me and said ‘alright, who’s next’ and i kind of smiled and bumped my head, wanting to convey some combination of ‘that’s nice please don’t say more’ and ‘i am not next in line.’ the next man wanted cigarettes. he said ‘marlboro gold pack.’ the customer service girl said ‘lights?’ he said ‘no, gold pack.’ she scanned the cigarettes, looked at him, and said ‘reds?’ the man said ‘no, gold pack, marlboro gold pack.’ she pointed and said ‘these?’ he said ‘yeah.’ she took the new pack, raised her eyebrows, and said ‘these are called ‘lights.” the man didn’t react in a way other than paying her. as he was paying i was preparing how to ask her for a waldbaum’s card in a way that would equalize the man’s ignorance about how they were called ‘lights.’ i would be the ‘less-bad’ customer, the spokeswoman for all ‘lesser-bad’ customers. thought ‘this might not be where you apply for waldbaum’s cards, but don’t ask. she doesn’t want to answer that. she’s already answered that like 20 times today. approach the counter with certainty. maybe roll your eyes at the guy. create a sense of comaraderie. no, too complicated, she might not get it. plus it would seem disingenuous. plus it’d make her think more about you than ‘this person wants a waldbaum’s card.” smiled and made eye contact with her. she looked like she was ‘on her last straw.’ thought ‘no matter what i say, she’s going to complain about this to her
co-workers—more about the man than me—no, she doesn’t talk to her co-workers. she doesn’t talk to anyone. her rage is private. the unstoppable, silent, complaint-free, next level rage of a waldbaum’s employee on her last straw.’ i said ‘h-iii. i was wondering if i could get a waldbaum’s card?’ she said ‘here fill this out’ in a monotone and gave me a clipboard. under the clip were a stack of empty application forms. i took the clipboard to the counter and penciled my information in the top form’s blank spaces. felt a presence behind me. turned and saw a short smiling man, watching. stepped aside and gestured to him like ‘go ahead, i’m not in line.’ he said ‘good morning’ to the rage employee. thought “good morning.’ it’s almost 6PM. i like him.’ didn’t listen to their conversation but sensed the rage employee’s waves of chronic frustration. stopped writing today’s date below the words ‘TO BE MARKED BY STORE PERSONNEL ONLY.’ handed clipboard to the rage employee. thought ‘there is no way she cares that you wrote the date where you weren’t supposed to, no chit chat required, she is good, she wants as little from you as possible.’ she poked three cards from a perforated piece of plastic, handed them to me, said ‘there you go.’ i said ‘thank you.’
too many people stood in the self-checkout lines. i stood in regular line behind a woman ‘carrying on’ with the cashier scanning her items, many of which were chicken cutlets. the woman bewilderedly said something like ‘the other waldbaum’s.’ i thought ‘how is this related to chicken.’ the cashier said things about ‘the other waldbaum’s.’ the woman left looking overwhelmed. i put a pack of orange trident gum on the black rubber conveyer belt. a man stood behind me in line.
cashier wordlessly greeted me and i said ‘hi.’ she said ‘do you have a waldbaum’s card?’ and before i could say something stupid like ‘why yes, in fact i’ve just gotten one—finally!—after all these months,’ she saw it in my hand and scanned it. i bagged groceries as they slid down the conveyer of rolling metal cylinders. the last conveyer belt they’d ever know. first the rubber one, now this rolling one, then no more, forever, for as long as ye both shall live. swiped my card in the paying device, pressed ‘credit,’ resumed bagging. the cashier said ‘fifty-one oh-six.’ i stopped bagging. a glimmer of pessimistic hesitance peeked through the cashier’s mostly blank expression. i said ‘oh, it didn’t run as credit?’ the cashier said ‘yeah but it only took twenny-eight dollars.’ remembered seeing ‘$28’ on the ATM screen. the man behind me wasn’t buying more than he could hold. more people stood behind him. i said ‘oh no, that’s…can i—i’ll just go the ATM.’ the cashier said ‘the ATM over there?’ i said ‘yeah, yeah, i’m sorry, this is embarrassing, i’ll be right back,’ looking alternately at her, the man behind me, and the faceless line behind him.
the machine worked the second time i swiped. withdrew $60 from savings account. jogged back to the cashier and the people in line, most of whom seemed to be looking at me. thought ‘shit, i could’ve said to cancel my order and waited until it was less busy.’ handed cashier $60 and said ‘i’m so sorry, this is so embarrassing.’ my remaining groceries had been bagged. the cashier did things to the register. i said ‘thank you, sorry again, embarrassing.’ she handed me my change and either said something or looked at me like ‘i understand, it’s okay, sometimes money is hard.’ as i exited the store i felt like a fraud, undeserving of the cashier’s sympathy. embarrassed about overstating my embarrassment and guilty that i didn’t feel more guilty about inconveniencing the line. wanted to apologize. not to the cashier, but something.
5:53PM: tried to evenly distribute weight of four bags on arms. purse and red bull 12-pack threw off balance. worried about not having enough money to fund jordan’s trip. think he said it would be $400. still no texts from him, or danny landlord. damp air. dull hidden corners of bags kept bumping my legs, causing their handles to twirl and cut off circulation in small areas of my arm before unwinding and bumping another bag or me again. felt shitty, carrying the bags, anticipating washed comforter still smelling like cat pee, maybe more pee on the mattress, buying condoms, how and why i’ve depleted my savings account, how danny doesn’t know the checks i’m giving him today will bounce, how i’ll need ask dad for money, how no one has responded to my texts except the person i’d said ‘i’d rather you not respond’ to, how saying ‘i’d rather you not respond’ is pretty transparently self-protective and controlling and probably reads more like ‘i’d rather not sound like a pathetic fragile loser who not only would rather you respond, would rather your response be extreme enough to erase the last time i saw you and the thing that’s been happening in my stomach when i think about how it felt to push against the weight behind your skin or to watch your face change when you didn’t know i was looking or the smell of your pillows or the drive to your apartment or that baseball game we never went to.’
saw a small gathering of people inside apartment building. walked in. danny landlord and mark were talking. everyone was smiling. i said ‘hi, hi hi,’ smiling really big. danny said ‘i was waiting here for you!’ i swatted him and said ‘you didn’t text me’ in faux-scolding voice. everyone was just…smiling, laughing. snickered typing that. what was everyone so happy about. put grocery bags on the floor so i could get the rent check from my pocket. mark said ‘you sure are popular today, huh megan?’ mark has a way of…whatever he says kind of trails off at the end, or else he just doesn’t move his mouth much when he talks, ventriloquist-style. i like it. danny said ‘hey’ again, like ‘hey, here we are, finally!’ i gave him a ‘side hug’ with one of my arms and said ‘it’s nice to see you. i’m sorry to keep you waiting, were you here long?’ handed him the check. he said ‘no, not long, don worry’ and his face matched. i put the bags back on my arms. danny said ‘so hey, so how thinks working out?’ i said ‘oh good, great, the apartment’s great,’ looking at the bags. he said ‘you got job?’ continued bag focus and said ‘yup, yeah, i’m going back to school.’ danny made a noise with vague implications. i said ‘yup. yeah, it’ll be, yup. so, this spring. but i’m up for it!’ mark and the other person were still talking. mark had been holding the elevator for me the whole time. i looked at danny and gestured to the elevator and said ‘well, gotta go put this away, i’ll see you next time!’ he said ‘okay bye’ and waved. i said ‘bye mark, thanks.’ mark said ‘see ya megan.’ i said ‘bye’ to no one in particular as the elevator door closed. pressed ‘2.’ felt like i had just run a marathon.
put away groceries and killed fruit flies with windex. they like the sink. thought about putting away the laundry. left dad a long voicemail about the yelling caped woman and the cat pee and fruit flies. pressed a button and it was deleted. left another voicemail that was mostly ‘i’m afraid the check is going to bounce again, i’m out of money, can you do rent?’
9:12PM: think the guy at the deli just gave me an amount of quarters that seemed like was ‘enough’ when i asked for eight. he’s the guy who…it’s hard to interact with him every time. there is always some misunderstanding.
which is all to say: i’m drying laundry right now and i am one quarter short. i don’t think i ever want anything as much as i want one quarter when i’m one quarter short of a dryer load. i looked everywhere spare change could be in my apartment, i think. i had five quarters and the cashier at wegman’s gave me a quarter too. there is no way that guy gave me eight quarters. going to the chinese food place to exchange two dimes and a nickel for a quarter.
9:32pm: I lied about the quarters. Have been lying about weird things lately. I had two dollars, I was planning on getting change for two dollars. Walking back from Chinese place. I only got change for one dollar. I didn’t get change for the other one because felt guilty about lying and didn’t consider that I could just delete ‘two dimes one nickel’ and replace it with ‘one dollar’ or ‘two dollars.’ I don’t know what’s going on. Stared at a package containing fist-sized mounds of dough wrapped in something that said ‘almond cookie’ as woman gave me four quarters. I brought
the dimes and nickel in case I changed my mind and wanted to be a ‘good Samaritan who does what she says she’s going to do.’
9:39pm: the lady gave me a Chinese quarter I think. It did not work in dryer.
9:40–11:59PM: answered backlog of ask.fm questions. here i go writing things like ‘backlog of questions’ again. at some point dad called.
AUGUST 2, 2013
12:56AM: sam cooke texted that he and mira and gian were hanging out. planning to respond ‘i’ll come as soon as i finish answering this question or in 30 minutes.’
2:56AM: texted ‘are you guys still partying.’ still haven’t heard from jordan.
3:38AM: made a fist around orange 30mg adderall while looking indirectly at an area of my bed to ‘give eyes a resting place while brain decides.’ thought ‘maybe don’t eat it. remember sam’s (chelsea’s ex-boyfriend) party tomorrow. you will be tired if you don’t sleep tonight. [memory of reading chelsea’s texts this afternoon and how the light looked]’ and put adderall in mouth.
my apparent interest in being social and very likely tendency to flake out of social events is becoming predictable in a self-parodying kind of way. starting to get bored with this.
TO-DO THIS WEEK (AS IN FRIDAY AUGUST 2 – AUGUST 9):
• do two social things you said you wanted to/would do
this will be too easy because i’m committed to going to sam’s party tomorrow
two things, i want to do two things
two things…one week…
i want to make ‘two things, one week’ like ‘two girls, one cup.’ time-lapse footage of me over the course of one week, trying to motivate myself to do two social things i said i wanted to do, ending up sitting in different places in my apartment. the video is somehow more revolting than ‘two girls, one cup.’ or no, it could just be the same video. yeah it’s just the same video. ‘two things, one week’ = ‘two girls, one cup.’ i’m aware of trying to sound like i did in the beginning of the liveblog. now i’m going to stop doing that.