Down the Wormhole 13
Window shopping
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About a dozen years ago, I got fired. I was really freaked out and I sent a bunch of friends an email asking for help and company. I was really worried I was going to lose my mind. I was also embarrassed about feeling like I was going to lose my mind. I couldn’t just admit I was scared, I had to make fun of it. The way I signaled that in the email was by writing that I could be found at my apartment, listening to Elliott Smith.
I remember sending that email but, until I reread it recently, I did not remember the Elliott Smith line. I was obsessed with Smith in middle and high school, a time when his deeply genuine emotions felt like they matched my deeply genuine emotions. That feeling didn’t entirely go away. So I can imagine writing this, hovering over myself as asked for help even I tried to defuse any of the real difficulty I was experiencing. I wasn’t that sad. I would be fine. Just a few days of listening to Smith, master of misery, and all would be healed. Don’t worry about me. Or, worry about me, but not too much.