There’s a low point you reach at bars sometimes. 

I get it, I’m in my twenties, I’m supposed to high five people at bars. I’m supposed to be enveloped in the kind of life that supports people who wear plaid shirts and Axe body Spray and tips a dollar for drinks. I’m supposed to wait on bathroom lines for fifteen minutes before squatting on a dirty toilet, praying to the Lord above that there is toilet paper in the stall and soap by the sink. I’m supposed to ogle the tall guy walking past me who I’ll never meet, I’m supposed to hope for the Prince Charming appearing out of a sea of vodka tonics and a whole bunch of “so what do you do for a living?” It’s not always satisfying, but we’re supposed to take this kind of life by the collar because ten years from now, it’ll be all gone (this is basically a tragedy, I guess). We’ll be in rocking chairs or some shit, remembering the time our bodies allowed us to stay out till 2am screaming along to a Missy Elliot song. Is it Missy Elliot, anymore? Maybe it’s Mary J. Blige, please don’t let it be the Black Eyed Peas, I have no fucking clue. 

There are days, like this one, where that is simply not enough. It’s kind of like grasping at alcoholic sand, it’s wishing for things you don’t have. It’s the kind of Thursday that makes me feel really idiotic for trying on dresses and staring at myself sideways in the mirror, wondering if I look decent. Do I? I don’t know, because I know in ten minutes I’ll ruin my mascara. But that’s your twenties! It’s skirts and heels and they only cost thirty bucks! In your twenties, you can only go up, really. You’ve graduated from college, or maybe you didn’t, and you have about 600 dollars to your name that you can spend on anything that isn’t college loans. So what? I guess you’re supposed to get off your ass and make something of yourself. That sounds good- maybe six years from now I’ll have a nice apartment and a solid group of friends and a whole bunch of books and pots and pans I call my own. Okay, I can do that. Because that seems far away, and I’m really fucking good at procrastination. I can do that..eventually? Eventually. 

Regardless, it’s a scary time, because you don’t know exactly where you’ll wind up. It all feels like an endless yellow brick road, except instead of Toto you have a bunch of college loans and a resume that people probably think looks bad. The economy’s real fine, come jump in! It can suck the big one, if that is something people say nowadays.

Today, I hated being in a routine. I woke up and cursed my shampoo, like it had something to do with the fact that it was generic because I can’t afford the good stuff anymore. If I had money, I’d travel, if I had the adventurous spirit and I said ‘fuck it’ to money, I’d travel some more. But I don’t, and I don’t, so I took a walk. 

I took a walk in the place I chose to live in, bundled up in a coat and a scarf because it’s fall and you can bury yourself in that shit when the time’s convenient. There are two ways you can go with this kind of moment- you can look at the stuff you don’t have, or you can look at the stuff you do have. I was being pessimistic, as usual, because I always scowl on the subways. If I were being honest, I was afraid, but only because it’s SHOCKTOBER and I’ve been watching a lot of slasher films.

I don’t have anybody to call at these moments without it sounding like whining, I’ve been single forever, I like people who don’t exist in my city, when am I going to be debt free, where am I going with my life hashtag hashtag big problems waaah wahh cry cry. Nobody cares about your problems, and I’m not being a downer because everybody has the same fucking problems and yours aren’t that big of a deal in the long run.

Because, really, there’s good things everywhere. There are good things in my life and yours that are buried under a mountain of routine, under a laundry mountain of ‘something better that is not mine.’ It’s good weather. It’s greasy food. It’s your mom answering the phone. It’s hanging out with your best friends in a big T-Shirt and watching Jersey Shore because that’s generational, sadly. It’s a wall to wall of crap, I said, out loud, to absolutely nobody. Because it is, only it’s a wall of crap for everybody and that’s kind of comforting. It’ll get better, maybe, and until it does, there are still some important things to cling onto: really good friends talking about really bad dates, October weather, hot coffee, good drinks, tights that don’t rip, six bucks you can spend on a sandwich, awesome television, other people’s dogs, working any job after college, a big fucking bed. There are always things to be grateful for, and if you see them, they are there.

In a rut, you take a big breath, you wait for the person who’s coming that’ll hit you like a missile, you talk to your crush, you dry your hair and you keep going. You smile at somebody on the goddamn street. There’s stuff ahead, you promise yourself. There’s big stuff later on, and when it happens, you’ll remember this moment. This stupid, gratuitous, depressing moment where you thought you had nothing. You had something, and you were waiting for something else. That’s it.

Then you go to sleep and wake up to the same shit as yesterday, but tomorrow? No place to go but up. Sounds good, huh? How about that. Why don’t you go for it?