My underwear, comforter and other random articles of clothing are tumbling away in a dryer downstairs and I have to wait, wait, wait like a dog for his master. I can see the Lord of this life, high up in the clouds, laugh at my petty rumblings. This is life in Modern America and you created this, I tell myself because I know he can hear my thoughts and I reminisce on the “Two Girls One Cup” video to get back at him since he can see that too. Coffee is the only thing holding me to this waiting room and I appreciate the grasp it has on me.

I wash my sheets in protest. But it is a weak protest formed out of denial of my lifestyle. This was not my idea. But it’s a good one and I realize that I should’ve been more self-aware and took the incentive not to make a love interest suffer through my bachelorness. She doesn’t need to smell my life, at least not yet.

There is clearly a smell on my pillow case that is a cocktail of sweat, selfish decisions, nacho cheese, semen, gin and freedom with a dash of loathing. I don’t notice the scent, because, to me, it’s not unique, it just the summation of my life up to this point. What she smells is the only life and identity I’ve ever known. The fragrance of neglect and manliness is where I dwell.

I have been alone for almost as long as I can remember.  It’s easy. There is a rhythm to it. And to consider someone else’s opinion on the state of my cleanliness never really crossed my mind.  I find it unsettling that I could be so self-absorbed. But I am willing to try something else for this girl and for my future (whatever that may be) and for the general consensus that growing up is a good thing. That has to mean something, right? Or at least, says something about where I am in my life. Or not. Maybe I am just tired of being alone like Al Greene. Maybe it’s just because I am 30.

Loneliness can explain a great deal of the decisions in my life if I let it. If I can learn to just accept that I am not a rogue nation unto myself, then perhaps, I won’t dwell on laundry and the meaning it has in my life. But that can’t happen. It’s not who I am.

Time is up.

I just grabbed the laundry out of the dryer. The fabric smells better but it’s still damp. Either that fucking dryer is incompetent or I put too much shit in it. Probably the latter of the two scenarios is true.  The collision between the life I have and the one I want has been in the making for a long time by way of many scenarios and people. And if I want certain things in life I have to find balance. As an older and wiser person might say, I have to take the damp with the clean. Change isn’t easy and there will be hiccups along the way. My sheets are fresh and they’ll be dry soon, but it will take some time to get comfortable with this whole thing. And the question still remains, “Will she have sex with me on these newly refurbished threads?”