This week, a woman can’t choose between a bad ex-boyfriend and a nice-guy snoozefest: 32, single, New York
DAY ONE
6:45 a.m. Wake up before my alarm because Jason texted at 6:30: “morning beadautiful.” With that exact typo. Ignoring would be the smartest thing I could do for myself. Instead I write back “barely hiiiiii” and immediately regret it. Jason —a filmmaker — was my boyfriend for two years, my situationship for one, and now he’s whatever this is. A fuck buddy? A bad habit? An addiction? Jason’s unpredictable. He can be the best, most devoted boyfriend for months, then he gets cold feet and grows distant, shady, and cold. Because his work is so up and down, he kind of gets away with it. But I’ve been on the same roller coaster with him forever, and it’s heartbreaking.
8 a.m. Coffee with oat milk. Existential dread. I have three showings today and I haven’t eaten anything but a rice cake since yesterday’s lunch. My anxiety is so bad, I can’t eat.
9:30 a.m. Group chat with my girls about Rachel’s wedding this weekend. It’s at a restaurant in the city, on a Wednesday night, “casual-chic” and “plus one strongly encouraged.” I admire how loose the whole thing is, but I have to figure out who I’m bringing. I have two options — Jason and another newish guy, Greg — and neither of them is great, but also, both are fine, I guess. This is my exact problem.
11 a.m. Show a one-bedroom in Ditmas Park to a couple who hate each other. Tension! They think the place smells like cat pee. It’s faint, but I get what they’re saying. Onward.
1 p.m. Greg texts a sweet little “thinking of you.” He’s so wholesome, it makes my teeth hurt. But, no, he’s sweet. He’s stable. He has a big penis, but doesn’t know what to do with it, and can’t eat pussy to save his life.
3 p.m. Second showing. Same couple. A two-bed in Prospect Heights that’s overpriced by at least $100K. My body hurts from being on my feet all day. The couple likes it, so that’s good.
7 p.m. I’m on the couch eating leftover blueberry pie (from last weekend’s upstate trip with Greg — it was fine, but we stayed at an AirBnB and had mediocre sex and an annoyingly clichéd upstate apple picking day. Ugh.) Jason wants to come over. I say no.
9:30 p.m. I go to bed alone, feeling proud of myself for resisting him, then asking myself, Why am I resisting him? I’m 32, single, and love having sex with this person.
10 p.m. These mental gymnastics are why I’m anxious all the time.
