I cannot believe the old lady across the hall stole my groceries. I guess I should have answered the door when the delivery guy knocked but people at the door make my anxiety flare up, like, big time.
Cause first they check out me and then they look past me and check out my place and I start to imagine all the things they might be thinking. Like, why is this seemingly capable dude hanging out in his track pants in a dark, empty apartment. Shouldn’t he be at work or school or something? What does he do all day in there? Why is he getting his groceries delivered when he could go out and get them or something?
I know it’s, like, all in my head. The assumption of judgement. Really it’s me judging myself. That’s what my therapist says. She says that most people are thinking about themselves most of the time, just like me.
But that doesn’t really make me feel better. That’s kinda sad, you know? Like, why are we bothering at all, if we’re all just thinking about ourselves. How can anybody, like, really connect?
When the delivery dude knocked on my door, my heart started pounding so fast. I know for a fact that I checked the box to get a text when the guy was fifteen minutes away. Sometimes that helps. Advance warning, kind of thing. I can make sure there's, like, nothing in my teeth and open up the blinds and stuff.
So I wasn’t expecting the knock at all and I guess I kinda freaked. So I went into the bedroom and listened until he went away.
It was already paid for. No big deal.
Then I looked through the peephole to make sure the coast was clear. But it wasn’t. The old lady was out there going through my groceries! The little old lady from across the hall.
I’d only seen her, like, once before, on the day I moved in. The super told me she never comes out. Like never. Her husband used to take care of her but he died a few months ago.
Maybe she’s hungry. Or a clepto.
She stole a box of my groceries! And it looked like she might take more, so I went into the kitchen and made some noise.
When I came back, she was gone. I waited a little bit longer so she might think I’d just got home, you know, then I opened my door quietly and slid the boxes into my apartment.
She got my coconut milk and pineapple, man. I was going to try a piña colada for the first time ever!
Maybe she’ll make piña coladas. Maybe I should knock on her door and offer to make them for us both.
Or get my groceries back. Crazy old lady.
I can hear her in there, talking to her canary. Pretty birdie. Pretty birdie.
But, like, who am I to judge, you know? Scared to go out. Scared to talk to people. It’s - what’s that word? It’s, like, pathetic.
It’s the sweating I can’t deal with. Cause they see it. I can see them notice it and then I start to imagine what they’re thinking and even if it’s all in my head, it doesn’t matter cause by then it’s dripping off my face and I get, like, really embarrassed.
Why can’t I just be a normal twenty two year old, out disrupting the world?
But, you know, my life’s okay. Everybody’s got baggage, right? We’re all walking wounded. Like my parents. Zombies, man.
You know what I wish? I wish that we could all just be okay. Like, that everyone could just - like - love each other and junk, but not like hokey - like - real, you know?
Real love, for everyone.