Emily is I need to go outside
I leave the house so infrequently that when I do, it makes me nervous. Today Alyssa says to me, still in her pajamas at 1pm, “we are making a social anxiety for ourselves.”
I reach some sort of breaking point this afternoon, so I set out across Dupont St. with my laptop. I gots the loonies my dad gave me, God bless ‘m. I thought I’d go get a coffee somewhere and half way there, I swear to ya, I notice my hands are a bit shaky. It’s the thought of going into some place and ordering a coffee alone.
I was going to go to Madeleines, but change my mind at the last second, I think, to be honest, because I had a vivid dream that I worked there and now the sight of it is off putting.
There is a diner right beside Madeleines so I go in there and order a coffee from an old guy watching Tennis. And I sit down in there and I think to myself, “I like diners. They’re, you know, what’s the word, nostalgic.”
I kid you not. I thought this thing to myself. Peacefully, I thought it. As though everyone I know has not thought this thing fifty thousand times (especially between the ages of sixteen and nineteen, when you love 24-hour diners because you think of them as sort of, ah, subversive or something, literary).
I am totally freaked out by this weird regression. And I am FREAKED OUT!
By the tone of this blog entry. I’ve been stuck in the house reading second-rate Canadian creative non-fiction.
