Simple Pageant

The El took me down to Belmont and Clark, a border zone in which an uneasy truce exists between hipsters, the homeless, queer folks, and yuppies. I had to leave my house. A copy of Alicia E. Goranson's Supervillainz came in the mail from Amazon today, and I needed a good reading spot for it; therefore, a ride on the Red Line.

But that was also pretext. I spent today avoiding a prescheduled meeting with my cousin. He's living here in Chicago now, having fled the open-air prison that is Iowa. He borrowed a game from me and, while I'd like it back, I just don't want to see him. I'm convinced that we'd exhaust our subjects of conversation in 5 minutes, after which there would be the awkward 5 minutes of attempted small talk, followed by a third 5 minute period during which I'd muster up the courage to give a lame pretext for leaving. So I just stood him up.

I feel bad about that, but not bad enough to actually get in contact with him. I can't think of a good excuse, and I lack the appropriate gall to give him my actual reason. It's the same way I fall out of contact with most friends: we set up play-dates, I cancel and give a lame excuse, repeat until communication peters out. Surprisingly effective.

I don't know what to say. I have a long mental list of topics to write about, but I can only commit a single full thought to page before I'm spent.