I wasn’t productive this weekend. I started re-watching Arrow and to get started on the new show The Flash, went to a bar with a friend, got drunk, and talked with him about Arrow and The Flash. My new friend is nice. He’s a heavy set black guy with three jobs and a yellow car. My boyfriend is jealous of him. My boyfriend is forty and my friend is twenty-eight, one year older than me. I think my boyfriend is afraid I’ll leave him for a man who’s younger than him. My friend keeps referring to my boyfriend as my husband. I keep telling him he’s not my husband; in fact I don’t believe he’s interested in ever marrying me at all. My boyfriend called me as my friend was driving me home. “You better talk to your husband,” my friend said after I answered it. I think it made my boyfriend uncomfortable.
I’m sober now and I’ve read “Araby” by James Joyce and “Boys and Girls” by Alice Munro from The Norton Introduction to Literature. Fox farms and Cinderella. James Joyce must have hated Cinderella or whatever version of that tale that he would have been exposed to. Yes, I just compared “Araby” to Cinderella. You may scold me now.
