Portrait of My Body (2006)

My friend says the problem with my writing is that it doesn’t make me vulnerable enough. She thinks I should share more of myself. Be more open. Of course, she also says I should drink more Jameson. Be more like her. Perhaps a single malt even? Believe me I’ve tried. Single malt. And not just once. It abuses the my pharynx and larynx and pretty much the entire upper ⅓ of me. So does tequila, but that’s different. So does anything, but—look, I’m not drinking Jameson, okay!

Okay, okay. I’m 6 foot 2, 165 lbs. I’m only 30, something. I actually don’t even know. I think something is wrong with my testosterone though. Because I haven’t tried to have sex in a long time. I used to want that a lot. I think something definitely happened to my testosterone. A small brain tumor must be involved. Somehow. I’m sure of it.

I’m 6 foot 1, 155 lbs. I wish someone would love me. But he won’t. Not forever anyway. When I realized this I developed a small patch of eczema on my right shoulder. Yes, we need to keep talking about my body. According to my liquor buying card, I have brown hair and hazel eyes and I am allowed to buy liquor. I could stop dieting, if I wanted to.

I’m 6 foot 1, 150 lbs. My friend (the one who drinks) and I, we talk for hours about our other friends and what they are thinking. Okay, when I say hours, it’s not all in the same conversation, but I mean if you added it all up, it would be hours. We do a lot of speculation. And most of the time I think she makes up way more than I do. Her speculation I would say is “truly wild,” whereas mine is just “irresponsible.”

Okay when I say “friends,” it’s really not “friends.” It’s more just this one guy we always talk about. A mutual friend. But I’d really rather not drag him into this. And I know he doesn’t want to be either. This is where she would say that he secretly does. No. I assure you. He pretty much said.

Anyway I have to go now. But we can talk more later, I promise. I’ll tell you everything.