Still Having Fun
Every Wednesday night, I am here. Except that one time I was sick. Even when I work until 8 in the evening and have a class in the morning at 7:30 AM, I come here. They told me about it in my first week on the job, and I've come here as a matter of routine because I need a lifeline. I am a stranger in a strange land, sleeping on a couch, rolled up in a curtain, breaking things constantly, and fearing that everything I do is terribly wrong. So this is where I go, where everyone knows my name, more or less, and where I can feel that warm glow of confusion. I have a strict financial and temporal allocation for the amount of fun I can have. Although I account my money here different than the other money I spend, and try not to think about it too much. A half liter of beer is eighteen eggs, and a plate of french fries is two week's worth of cheese. I don't think about it, because living the good life is expected from the expatriates, and the good life is the buzz and hugs and gently fading focal length of intoxication. And so I am here every week, meeting interesting people, enjoying the feeling of dancing along the edge of drunkenness, and wondering what opportunities are apart to open up. South America is romantic, right? I look at my beer at the 60% mark. Maybe when it reaches the 40% mark, my feelings will come free and everything will fall into place. Don't think about what I will feel like waking up tomorrow. It will fall into place. After all, I am still having fun, because I am obligated to.
I don't think about the fear of sobering up, the fear of walking home, the fear of my keys fumbling in the lock. Just enjoy it. Wait for the opportunity. And I did. I am still having fun.
A bro is worse than a maiden aunt when he is asking you why you don't have a girlfriend. It's a bit smarmy, hearing about how obvious and easy it is to pick up girls. But its a good question: why don't I? Hey, I put on the right show, I am here, still having fun, and yet after a year of doing my duty as a digital nomad or whatever, no one I see out and about seems to be able to schedule any time for anything else. Have I ever had a conversation with these people sober? How can I tell a woman that I am not playing 11th dimensional chess to seduce her, but just desperately want to speak with someone in our native language, because I am lost and alone? How do people who make around 100 dollars a week casually spend 20 dollars on basic beer and bar appetizers? Why do these problems never seem to happen to any of the other hashtagged international set? Why the fuck am I paying more than 5 dollars for a Stella Artois?
I am not still having fun. I start to become derelict in my duty to be having constant fun. People ask me why. People tell me they miss me. I live ten, twenty minutes from these people. We have the magic of social media at our fingertips. HMU, as the kids say. I am no longer still having fun. The pressure is off. I have never felt better.