Day One

My best friend frequently finds excuses to come to my house when she suspects I am in the throes of a depressive episode season. Did you know the holidays are really hard on some of us?

On Monday, she showed up with a hot dog, watched me eat it and while complaining about the heat, took off everything but her underwear to take a nap on my couch while I smoked in the kitchen and thought of how unsubtle she can be sometimes. (That’s a really long sentence and I can’t believe it’s true and that I saw it all with my human eyes.)

When she woke up, she wrapped herself in a chitenje and we sat pa khonde. I was navel gazing about this my cringe comedy life and she said something so astute that it floored me. She said, “Depression learns how to evolve with you and the reasons you got this way are no longer the reasons you’re feeling this now.”

Fucking hell. 

Yesterday, she showed up and gave me my Christmas present early. It’s a notebook in a similar shade of green as the notebook I used to outline my first novel. “For world domination,” she said.


I decided to use it for journaling, a habit I will likely drop before the new decade even begins because that’s what writers do with notebooks. We hoard them, dutifully note for a bit, end up using them for grocery lists and then abandon them the way we abandon our ideas. 

Nevertheless, oh what romance an empty notebook teases and taking pen to it can feel very much like day one of the rest of your life or wherever that pen might take you. 

This afternoon she showed up again and started making me food but the lights went off. She announced she would be spending the night.

Me: To make me dinner?  
Tamanda: I want to watch Rick and Morty later.
(Did you know “I want to watch Rick and Morty later” is Swedish for “What will happen if I leave you alone?”)


This morning I wrote in the journal. Nothing much or important; just bullet points of how things were going (woke up hungover, had a fag, threw up, ate four potatoes at 20 minutes per potato average, cleaned the kitchen, got fags).

Before bed, I’m supposed to journal again. I’ll write about my Day One. 

PS: I was not allowed to use the picture of the creature in the chitenje unless I also posted a picture of her being wet (This is a hilarious joke about her being asexual. Ha! Are you laughing? Wet. I’m talking about sex guys. Whew man, how am I not raking in millions as a stand-up comic right now? She is asexual and she is wet but I’m making it sound sexual. I take donations on my paypal.)

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