The Cave

Some people run with an iPhone strapped to their arm, but not me. I use an iPod Shuffle that I clip to my waistband, draping the cord down my spine like a ponytail.

Weather permitting; I don’t wear a shirt. Weather irrelevant; I don’t wear underwear. I do, however, wear very small black running shorts that fall nearly an inch below my balls. On a windy day, I avoid high-traffic roadways because the odds of an up-short breeze revealing my junk to the transient public are pretty steep. As much as I want people to look at my dick, I’d rather it happen on my own terms — in a text message. I never run the same route on consecutive days, which keeps it interesting. I need to keep it interesting because this is the only real hobby I have left.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about doing something else, like a new hobby. I don’t really practice yoga anymore, but if I meet someone new, I lie and say I do it every day. I read one book per month, but I wouldn’t really count that as a hobby, either. I often entertain the idea of joining the really fancy gym in town that lets you run a credit line at the snack bar. The only thing that keeps me from signing up is that one of my exboyfriends goes there, and I really hate him.

Also, I heard that gays blow each other in the steam room, and I don’t want to be lumped into that group.

Also, I don’t lift weights.

I thought about learning to play an instrument, but that turned out to be really depressing. I borrowed an electric guitar from my little brother and from the day I brought it home, it leaned against my bookshelf where it remained for four months, unstrummed and useless. If it had feelings, I’m sure it would’ve been sad. Eventually, I decided to get rid of it along with some old workout equipment and a twin mattress of undetermined origin. The Salvation Army Donation Center was closed that day, so I dumped everything near a sign that said ABSOLUTELY NO DROP-OFFS ON SUNDAYS.

This impulse to find a new hobby feels more urgent now than ever and it’s completely Andy’s fault.

Before I met Andy, my future could’ve been anything, anywhere. Now, it feels like there’s a plan.

It’s like I finally know where my life is headed so I’m trying to branch out and find new interests before I become the me that stays me forever. It’s not just hobbies, though. I need to take a vacation, or start eating kale, or go live in Portland for a year.

No one ever talks about the panic that comes with finding your special someone. It’s like living in the frozen wilderness and then suddenly finding a warm cave. You’re happy to be in the cave, but then you realize how small it is. That’s a happy disposition, right?

You make the big decision and then you watch the other would-be timelines collapse.

It can be scary to watch big things collapse, right?

But it's exciting.