The Adventures of Anxiety Man & Mop Boy

I hurled through the windshield of 2020 like a crash dummy and my only landing spot was the proverbial shit cake that the year had dealt me. The COVID pandemic was simply the extra thick, piss yellow icing a top the tornado, the riots, the fires, and not to mention an RV bomb rolling through downtown Nashville.

I did not move to the Music City like everyone else just to windup as a wash out of an artist with a Liberal Arts degree. I had goals...which at this point were spools of yarn twisted around me; an intellectually deficient cat tangled, lost in how to get out. The fuzzy strands ensnared me as I tried to wiggle and find which strand I should follow out. Every path led me to another dead end. Alas, a glass of bourbon provided me temporary solace. I leaned back, planked in my weathered box chair when Doom set upon me yet another weight.

“Ugh. Cilantro!” I yelled. I slapped the palm of my hand to my forehead. I placed my glass of bourbon back on the antique bike bench that housed my various select bottles. I walked over to the large industrial window of my apartment with my hands on my hips. Just outside the AT&T building resembled that of the tower of Mordor and the Eye of Sauron narrowed in my direction. I was a half-witted halfling, and now, tonight, dinner with the shapely nurse that I had been seeing consistently would be ruined because I was too dimwitted to remember the damn cilantro. I should just cancel. Adam probably had another date lined up ready to slip into the scrubs that hugged that giant, 20,000 steps-a-day peach. Why would he want to keep seeing me anyway? I looked back at Sauron. One ring to rule them all – I wish I had a magic ring.

My last ring yielded the power to lure harpies into my bed after five years of commitment. A year into my separation, I was an unwilling participant thrust into this strange new dating world. I stared at my black leather journal next to my window. Strings of words, broken promises, and unfulfilled dreams of a future torn from me. I filled pages with angry lyrics in hopes of finding my next song, in hopes of success.

“But wait,” I said aloud. I glared back at Sauron once more. “Adam doesn’t even like cilantro,” I reasoned with him. The first time I took him to a Mexican restaurant the salsa drained him of happiness because of the soapy tasting herb. Doom lifted the weight, letting it hover above my chest; a victory for me remembering.

Doom annoyed me with its constant personal trainer tendencies always flirting with me about how much weight I could handle. It was a lunk with bulging biceps constantly adding five pounds here and there. The familiar ding of my phone alerted me of an incoming message. I turned my back on Sauron because he knew nothing and I was passed his silent judgements.

“Are there any movies out that you are wanting to see? What is your favorite movie?” Adam asked. I was a popped balloon and all of my air was escaping at once. Doom added another give pounds and Sauron’s eye dilated in shock. Die Hard, of course, says every douche bag ever. But, it’s a good movie. I also watched it during Christmas, because it was on, not because I want to debate over if is or is not a Holiday flick. What other movie could I even say? Movies ran through my head. Pulp Fiction, Lucky Number Sleven, Fight Club. Another ding of my phone. Rescued.

“I really like La La Land.” said Adam. A musical of an aspiring actress and a jazz pianist? Really? That is definitely not what I thought he would say. I put my phone in my pocket and rushed to the TV. I clicked through all the platforms. Yes, Amazon.

"Sounds great. I have it." I replied.

"Fun. I'll be over." He said. Confirm rent pressed. Date secured...I think...BUT, the cilantro.