First of all, you're welcome. Throw out the Ambien, noise machine, and imaginary sheep because you will no longer be tossing and turning, staring at the ceiling, and waking in a cold sweat at 3 in the morning wondering what I'm thinking.
Man [switching on light]: Babe, what's wrong?
Wife [rolling over]: This guy I don't know hasn't posted anything in years.
Husband [bolting upright]: Who the hell are you!?
Man: Shit.
Yes, it's been a while - and I blame Taylor Swift. Fortunately I'm a forgiving person and will agree to move on as long as "Cruel Summer" is never again played in this galaxy.
Some things have changed.
For one, I've moved from California to Nebraska. No one ever asks me why I traded the Pacific Ocean and 7-Eleven for Carhenge and Git 'N Split - and if you believe that, I have a dog that purrs.
I'm also a slot tech at a casino, which means I decide who wins and loses. Ha! Just kidding - no, I make sure the machines do what they're supposed to do, but that doesn't stop the Whole Wide World from believing I can somehow turn a game hot or cold, and I know this because at some point during every service interaction, a guest will say something like:
1. Can you make it win?
2. My ticket's missing a zero.
3. Loosening it up?
For all these and more, check out the latest edition of Things You Think Are Clever That I Hear 800 Times a Day. (Yes, it gets old, but this usually means people are having fun, which is really what we're trying to accomplish, so I play along, just like my awesome coworkers - but we reserve the right to be amused, which we try to keep private, though that's not always possible since one of us has a powerful laugh that combines the best of Peter Griffin and Fran Drescher, and I'm fairly certain she could be underground and still heard in passing aircraft.)
I've grown a beard, which I've learned requires more than just not shaving my face, unless I want to look like I live under a bridge - and the timing couldn't be better since many of the hairs on my head have inexplicably become self-conscious about their appearance and refuse to show themselves, while others have developed an intense wanderlust (literally, horny travel) and now only come out in places I would never have thought to look for them. Examine my blood under a microscope and I'm sure you'll see red blood cells lashed together like rafts carrying my follicular friends with their hobo packs and signs that read "Shoulders or Bust!"
Other things have stayed the same.
I still eat string cheese in bites, which my supervisor assures me is how Jeffrey Dahmer got started. (I once wrote a compelling counterargument, but I lost it under a pile of squirrel skulls.)
The best friends are still the ones who will ruthlessly tell you how stupid you're being but love you anyway. (Moo.)
And the creators of Lost are still incapable of producing a show that doesn't make Apple's Terms and Conditions look like Green Eggs and Ham.
Boyd: Good morning, I've called you all here to-
Hysterical Female #1: I'm scared!
Beta Male: Me, too! Let's talk about it for the rest of the show!
Asshat Guy: Nah, I've been scared before.
Teenage Girl: My parents suck!
Quiet Guy: I dreamt an army of sand crabs took me to Disneyland and
now I can't pee.
Overly Perceptive Boy: Why do we have so many characters?
Victor: Peaches.
Boyd: Fuck, I'm going in the woods.
I've also learned some things.
A sense of humor is a terrible thing to lose. We humans are too funny to not laugh at ourselves.
Fear will destroy what you love if you let it. It took a friend's interest and encouragement, at the right time, to make me realize I've been avoiding what brought me the most joy in life out of a fear that I'm not good enough. She's the main reason there are words here at all - so whatever happens, thank you, Emily.
As for anyone else who found this, feel free to make me regret allowing comments. No, thanks for joining me - we've laughed, we've cried, we've further digested what we ate hours ago, likely violating only several federal laws. As for me, I fully expect this to pay the rent, cure cancer, and abolish the IRS within six months (I might be willing to settle for one of those) - so check back regularly to see how full of shit I am.
Wife [turns off light, sighs]: Now I can sleep.
Husband: I suddenly want to go gambling.
Wife: Well, make sure you ask that slot tech to help you win.
Me: Please don't.
Husband: Who the hell are you!?
Me: Shit.
