Slipper & Slipping

• Lori Palminteri
• Uncategorized
• August 3, 2020

It’s not your traditional Cinderella story. It’s not a Cinderella story at all, in fact. There’s no falling in love or even a proper shagging. There’s no shagging. It’s no longer official quarantine but the signs on the expressway remind you, “COVID IS STILL A THREAT: WEAR A MASK.” And anyone who says dating has been better in Pandemic life or that in general they’ve been happier, I assume they are horribly mentally ill, in denial, or generally didn’t have shit going for them that was snagged away when all this went down.

As for my slippers, well they weren’t glass. They were worn DC skate shoes with tiny UFO’s on them. A favorite of mine that I bought for $20 on a clearance rack at DSW maybe four years ago. And as for my slipping, well that started before quarantine, but the end of the world sure expedited and inflamed it. The moments I care are followed by moments I truly do not care. I’d sure as shit be lying if I told you there was a state I prefer.

It’s collateral damage, the loss of a shoe (or shoes) when you’re flying 14 sheets to the wind. Truly, the only thing keeping me alive at this point is my pirate attitude of living like a 24 year old, retreating to the beach, guzzling alcohol, smoking, taking mental trips from tiny sheets of paper. These good times are killing me, but I’m not living through the apocalypse any other way. Rage on and rage hard. For winter is coming, and when it’s cold and dark and we can’t go out… for sure I am fucked, but you probably are too. The virus, the recession, the bloody election, the polarized right, the polarized left, the noise, the lack of jobs, the lack of income, the fear, the fucking dark, the fucking cold, the fucking loneliness… they’ll come together like some Power Rangers super robot and kick the living shit out of us.

So in the meantime we might as well rage on. Rage on! Celebrate the end. Or maybe it’s the beginning. The beginning of what? I’m not sure. You’ll find no answers here. Only existential worry. Existential drinking partners. Existential smoke dancing in the moonlight. Existential trips to the past, to an alien present, to realizing that the lesson here is that 2020 has taught us that the universe is indifferent to your plans. It doesn’t give a fuck. Throw your five year plan out the window. Set your ten year plan on fire. Find someone you love as much as the ocean. Drink the sea water. It has natural levels of lithium and makes you daft.

I’m many sheets to the wind, sailing in the wind, in and out of lucidity. There’s a drink in my hand. How many, I’ve lost count at this point. The clouds mock me. The water tempts me. The music makes the scene. I’m in a movie now, my skin is sun kissed tan—the sun—the only thing that has been kissing me. I realize how badly I miss touch. And not necessarily just fucking, but someone stroking my hair like a kitten when I’m laying my head to rest.

But right now my head isn’t resting. There’s laughter and I think I’ve made a joke but I already forgot everything I’ve just said. I’m sure it’s mean. I’m sure it’s sarcastic. I’m sure it’s clever. The rest of the crew laughs along. Who knows where they are. We are no longer sailing on the Great South Bay. We are sailing through the fucking universe. We’re sailing through space and time. Time doesn’t matter at all. March feels like yesterday and several years ago at the same time. Who cares. We’re marching to our death beds either way. It doesn’t matter. All our stories end the same way. I’m wasted now. I’m having a blast. Blasted. I laugh and laugh. It’s ridiculous to me. Everything. Every moment I spend worrying. It’s hilarious to me now. In the morning, I’ll wake up hung over and with dread of poverty. But for now I’m a fucking legend of the sea.

Slip deeper and deeper in to the stairway of imagination. It’s dark in here but I brought lights. My sanity floated away and I don’t miss it. Good riddance, I say, good riddance.

I won’t remember getting off the sailboat, but I’ll come to in a house with a bong in one hand and a drink in the other. A time lapse. Drink water, I say to myself. You’re dehydrated. And I do. I drink water and it tastes like fucking God. It tastes amazing. I’m reborn for a moment. Everything is so clear. I understand where I came from and where I’m going. As quickly as my cells absorb the H2O, I lose this revelation. Benders are like that, you know.

My dreams will be filled with vivid tales that I will believe are real. Until I wake up. Then, I’ll find out I lost my shoes. All things considered, it was a small price.