Keep the change: Why Gatsby makes me want to stay poor
I just got stood up by my friend at the Gatsby movie. It wasn’t too sad. I wanted to see the movie anyway. And I had a feeling it would happen. My intuition is good, though I rarely listen. It was an interesting experience–watching a movie about this lonely rich mysterious nobody, feeling like lonely poor mysterious me. Boo hoo.
I dug the movie. Didn’t like the soundtrack when I listened to it en total on YouTube, but in the film it fit. Representations of race gave me a thought bubble containing a single question mark. I felt conflicted about Nick’s character as a quasi Fitzgerald. Loved the makeup and the party party party.
Right now honestly I am completely devastated. I lied; it was too sad. I am drinking wine out of the bottle. I am lighting weird shit on fire over my oven burner in hopes of transferring that flame to the wick of my candle. I am wondering if there are parties happening at this moment that I haven’t been invited to. I am telling myself: Emily, if there are parties happening right now that you haven’t been invited to, that’s the beginning and end of it. They’re happening. You’re not there. Get over it. So I press on, beating against the current, etc etc, trying to write, but not without the nagging urge to check Facebook every 30 seconds as if happiness and true soul companionship could be found within a like.
Shifting gears. Last night I danced with a man for money.
Last night I went out with a guy I work with. It wasn’t supposed to happen. I planned on going out dancing alone after work because I had energy to burn and dance best unencumbered. I told this to a guy I work with, and he said he hates dancing, and then somehow we exchanged numbers. I literally put him in my phone as “Guy from work” because I had no clue. And then somehow I ended up grabbing a drink with him and then he paid for my drinks all night. When he tried to put his hands on my waist I backed away, but oh so demurely and with a smile because my best defense is playing dumb and if you get mad you lose the ability to pretend you don’t know anything is happening.
This guy is sweet, don’t get me wrong. This 23-year-old boy from a town of 150 in Iowa (I learned last night). I had fun and I drank for free, and when we suddenly realized it was 15 minutes until the last ferry he sprinted through Belltown with me, weaving through crowds, around fights and cop cars. When we arrived at the ferry terminal, sweaty and out of breath, and learned that the last ferry was actually a half hour late (of course!), he hung out. Though I’m not too kind to say that the specter of my pussy and the whiskey and weed being passed around encouraged him beyond chivalrous urges.
Yeah, it’s fun to drink for free, but there’s also something beautiful about a man who doesn’t spend a dime on you. Then you know you’re there because you want to be. I am so glad to be morally against capitalism (or at least purport myself as such). I get to do awesome things like work for free. And spend time with a person because I enjoy his company. And (in the very far future) marry for love. Mo money mo problems, am I right? There’s realness when you don’t have the luxury to pretend.