“What are you doing?”
“Looking at porn.”
“As if you need more shoes.”
“It’s a coping mechanism.”
“You must’ve gone through a lot.”
“As my best friend of 10 years, you should know.”
“Hmm. You’re right. Oh! Those are cute!”
Jessie pointed a perfectly manicured finger at a pair of blue suede pumps on my computer screen. They were cute. And blue just happened to be my favorite color. With a few clicks, my 6 inch pain killers were in a virtual shopping cart, ready for purchase.
“But where the hell am I going in them anyway?!” I whined.
For the past six months, I’d been in a rut. Everything just felt so…so…blah. I felt unfulfilled professionally, socially, romantically and sexually. My life was fifty shades of grey. Except middle aged white women wouldn’t be flocking to their nearest Barnes and Noble to snatch a hardcover retelling of my life and discuss it in hushed tones at play dates and soccer games. Maybe they’d recommended it to one another as quality bird cage lining. I threw my head back and let out a sound that I imagined would come from a dying giraffe. Jessie laughed.
“So glad you think this is funny.”
“You’re so dramatic! Are you still upset about-”
“I’m upset about everything.”
“Welcome to life.”
I got up from my desk and began to pace around my room. Jessie planted herself on the edge of my bed next to my 6 month old dachshund, Frankie. He was keeping himself busy with a chew toy. Oh to live the simple life of a dog and be so easily entertained.
“I’m just bored. I’m bored with everything. Nothing is happening. I have nothing to look forward to. Nothing to be excited about. This is my fifth consecutive Saturday night at home. The only reason I’m not alone this time is because Mikey is out of town on business, so you’ve got free time.”
“It better be business.”
“The point is, nothing moves me. How am I supposed to write when nothing moves me to do so? Am I supposed to write about this white wall? Who am I? William Carlos Williams? Shit, even his white fence had a red wheel barrel and chickens to spice things up!”
“That’s it. Go shower.”
I stopped on what must’ve been my fifth lap around the room. I’d forgotten for a second that I wasn’t talking to myself for once.
“Go take a shower.”
Jessie stood up and headed towards my closet.
“What are you looking for?”
She ignored me and I was back to feeling like I was having dialogue with myself again. I watched her rummage through my disorganized closet.
“Jessie. What are you doing?”
“I’m tired of your moping. We’re going out. Now go wash that depression and desperation off of you.”
“Going out where?”
I immediately began to regret my rant. My regret grew when I saw Jessie staring at a sequenced cloth on a hanger a little too long.
“You’re still here.”
I looked at Frankie. He hadn’t looked up from his chew toy once. I headed for the bathroom while making a mental note to remember how shutting up was usually in my best interest.

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