On Thursday evening I go to the gym, which does tend to be my only opportunity to socialise during the week, and by socialise I mean go there, avoid making eye contact with all the straight people that I see every night and want to be friends with because I want to sleep with them and occasionally shake my head “no” when one of them asks if I’m using the weights I happen to be standing next to. Then I go home.
At quarter past midnight I get on my bike and ride down Ocean Avenue, which is livelier than I would have thought, thanks to the number of drunken young tourists falling out of bars I didn’t even know existed. I try to remember a time when I might have also done that, but it’s really very faint after having spent so many years exclusively interacting with other people via messaging on social media websites and seeking out likes on instagram. I really, really want a family.
Then I go home and eventually pass out.
On Friday it’s another one of those days where I don’t open my mouth to say a single word and then it’s Saturday.
On Saturday afternoon I go to a pool party up in the hills. Do you really want to hear about that?
Around 5pm, I leave the party in the hills and go downtown to this music festival called FYF. The bands that I want to see that are playing that day are Chet Faker, Blood Orange, Caribou, and Grimes. But the time I’ve parked and walked the three miles they require me to get inside the festival, I’ve missed Chet Faker, Blood Orange, and Caribou. I also can’t find my group of friends that I was planning to meet, because nobody’s phone is working, though I suppose it’s my fault and I should have skipped the pool party and gone to the festival early, but that would have required me not to be an insecure homosexual that needs the pool party, and it’s too late for that.
I have about an hour to kill before Grimes is on. So I go buy some food and sit on the ground and eat it on my own. Everyone at the festival is probably 17 to 27. The fact that I’m wearing white socks pulled up and a bandana does not make me blend in.
Having nothing to do, I go to the stage where Grimes plays very early and get a really good spot. The show is pretty fucking awesome and I think I might have even enjoyed it.
After the festival’s over, I text Austin and go meet him and his friends in some bar in West Hollywood. For reasons that I can’t explain right now, and only feel like apologising for, when the bars close in West Hollywood, I continue to a house after party with Austin, Henry, and a bunch of other people I know.
I try to sleep on a couch between 6.30am and 7.30am, but that’s not working out at all for me, so right before 8am, I get up, put my shoes on and leave the apartment trying not to wake up the people sleeping around me. I drive back to Santa Monica listening to Bon Iver on the car stereo. Halfway home, I stop at a petrol station to refill my car, but my credit card is no longer working.