February 28, 2022 - So Late in the Day

Dear TNY,

What a fucking useless story “So Late in the Day” is.

I skimmed this.  It’s not worth engrossing oneself in.  Why is this even a story?  Why was this published?  The beginning is some shit-ass lonely guy at a shit-ass job doing shit-ass things.  It’s more boring than real life, if you think about it, right?  Because someone out there had to sit and write what kills most people about their daily existence. As content.  That’s preposterous.  “And then he drank the bitter coffee and wrote the letters and rode the bus home next to a lady who talked too much.”  Most people’s lives are this garbage.  Why are you replicating it?  So fucking stupid.

Oh, then the guy turns out to be a misogynist, as given via one conversation all after the fact.  And said conversation is clearly an avenue for the author to discuss personal ideas about misogyny.  The icing on the cake being the bit where he corrects her for using the wrong word and she gets mad about it.  That was perfect. 

And finally, much like “Cat Person”, we get a man calling a woman a bad name at the end of the story.

So what is this?  Boring man is living his boring life while remembering that he was boring before, even when engaged, but was also a misogynist and cheap (which the female lead seems to be insinuating are the same thing?), which lost him his fiancé, but not after he paid for many wedding things, which he is still upset about (see: cheap), and then kills a wasp and calls his ex-fiancé a cunt?

What transcendence are we to receive?  He obviously is a Snidely Whiplash sort of character, one-dimensional throughout. At least, I didn’t see any redeeming qualities about him.  She also is one-dimensional, though, in which she never does anything wrong.  Which means, if memory serves, that they cannot appear to be real because real people are not one-dimensional.  As per last issue’s story, people are “equal measures good and bad”.  So what is the purpose of this “art”?  Where is it supposed to take us?  And if it lacks that level of intent, is it at least good writing, to be chewed upon?  Nope.  Did something interesting happen, a plot to carry us?  Nope.

Fucking dumb.

You know what else is fucking dumb? I broke my phone yesterday while I was taking a shit.  I had, 30 minutes prior, sent a text to someone that I was upset with. It was one of those texts. I got sad. And more pathetically alone. Blah blah blah, you guys know the jam. I know why I’m alone. Because I fucking suck. I get it. 

Anyway, then I dropped my phone on the tile and it made crazy flashes & shit and then fell in half.  It was a real shitshow.  So, the way I figure it, she probably fired back some choice texts of her own, as that’s what people do, and I missed all of them because texts don’t travel across phones I guess. Which, I likely wouldn’t have responded well to anyway. Because: Trash. So maybe my phone saved me more cringeworthy shit? I’ll never know.

And then after I broke the phone, I got real sad, as I am wont to do these days, and ate a weed candy.  This weed candy met its promise and then some.  Because I don’t remember playing pinball.  I don’t remember walking home.  I do remember being in two separate bars, though, waiting for someone to take my order, but based on the fact that I was browning out, I’m sure they were just waiting for me to leave because they didn’t bring me shit. The last bar, I think I placed an order, but they didn’t have my card and I was threatening to fall off the stool so I just left. Maybe.  I do remember getting back to the house and making a quesadilla.  And making a snack plate.  But I don’t remember throwing up, but must have as evidenced by the toilet the following morning. And I rose early and have a new phone now. Cost of being a fucking dick, I guess.

Guys, I’m not okay.  I don’t want to live like this. Goddamn it. I just don’t. I think some people can find completeness in themselves. That’s great. Terrific. And I think some people need others to be complete. That’s me. I’m falling the fuck apart. I miss someone I’ve never fucking met. Just. Shoot. Me.

Anyway, this story was bullshit.  Do better.  Publish like you fucking mean it or something.

Or don’t.  Maybe I’ll just stop writing one day. Maybe one day I’ll just stop.

Nick