Count Your Blessings
Today, as I go on three straight weeks of being forced to stay inside my miniature Manhattan apartment, I want to take a few minutes to look back at a time when I was miserable for almost exactly the opposite reason.
If you can believe that much.
It was actually last year at this time. I was completely distraught after a trio of Nevada’s beefiest security guards forced me to leave a cramped hotel room that wasn’t even large enough to comfortably fit my luggage, several new friends, and their knickknacks. I remember thinking “why me?” as I departed the Cosmopolitan into the bustling streets of the Las Vegas strip.
At the time, I thought I needed "freed," but boy oh little boy was I fucking wrong.
I remember asking myself “can it get any worse than this?” as I dejectedly stomped up and down the crowded sidewalks, stopping only to pick up the playing cards of voluptuous escorts to squeeze into the pockets of my unisex slim fits.
I remember tearfully gagging up a mixture of tequila sludge and postnasal drip as I attempted to drown my sorrows with a $40 plastic souvenir filled with mildly spiked high fructose corn syrup.
I remember self loathing at the Bellagio fountain as me and my reflection struggled to sustain eye contact with each other.
I remember stubbornly slurping my jungle safari soup at the Rainforest Cafe as I plotted ways to cope with hundreds of Twitter notifications from friends and foes coming together to mockingly call me names like Cocaine Kyle and KeyBump NoseSwag.
I remember struggling to even enjoy the jaw dropping illusions of my favorite celebrity in the whole wide world because I was so anxious and frenzied.
I remember being like “damn” as I looked down at the Hoover Dam and thought about the gigantic obstacle I was facing with this public drug scandal.
The point I’m trying to make with all of this is that, although I thought I was at rock bottom at the time, I actually had the freedom to do so many of the things I would kill to be able to do right now.
If you can believe that much.
I’d do anything for a team of burly men to waltz into my apartment right this second, grab me by their calloused hands, and drag my equally masculine body out of this hellish isolation chamber and into freedom. You know how long it’s been since I even felt the touch of a man on my body? A real man. Nick has the hands of a mint condition beanie baby and the AMWL at Chelsea Piers hasn’t been in session since mid February.
I’d do anything to watch sports again with my best friends, even if it meant collectively losing $50,015 on a single game.
I’d do anything to have the freedom to scour the serene waters of glorious resort fountains for Arizona state quarters to add to my collection again.
Hell, I’d let people like @needabeef69 and @stooliedeg3nerate and @15yearoldbeav and @closetedsoxfan cyberbully me into the darkest depths of the netherworld if it meant I could eat out at a chain restaurant again.
I’d even let Rone expose me to kingdom come if it meant I could freely go out to the bar and exchange viruses with great aunts again.
I’d kill to be able to safely wrestle around with my boys again, without risking the death of the elderly.
Sorry for going off on a tangent, but as you all know, it’s getting worse and worse by the day. I’ve been experimenting with different hobbies like a schizophrenic nuclear physicist. Two weeks ago, I competed in a "bob off" for apples, bananas, and onions.
Last week, I participated in a "draw off" with a punishment that consisted of finishing the infamous Pubic's Cube (or the Rubik's Pube, depending on regional dialect).
This past weekend, I did a three hour live stream on Instagram that spiraled into a group of adult men denouncing female participation and showing each other their ankles.
Yesterday, I shaved 3/4 of my face and cosplayed as an aut-artistic Dan Katz.
And today, I’ve been playing myself in Pictionary. You know how fucking challenging that is? I don’t even know the rules of the game, let alone how to go about defeating or losing to myself.
I guess what I'm ultimately trying to say is please take a quick moment of silence to pray for me. And count your blessings, people. When this is finally over, if it ever is, try your best to never take the little things for granted.
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Or the big things.