You can't go home again in Pandemic

Back when I was watching the pandemic from inside my parents’ house in Oregon, I was aware that a lot of people were leaving San Francisco. When I moved back, barely three weeks ago, it didn’t feel like a returning as much as it felt like a move to an echo of the city I’d left. I live in a part of the city that I’d previously only ever visited a handful of times. The routine I left—a rotating roster of doggie clients, lifting weights and doing pilates and admiring my butt in the mirror, hair appointments every six weeks, again dating my ex bf, going to the Rent the Runway store in Union Square with my friend Jen where we plucked designer clothes from the racks and drank free coffee and used the Dyson Airwrap in the back of the dressing area—is completely gone. I dog sit here and there; my favorite gyms are either shuttered or, like hair appointments, now too risky; my butt has returned to its pre-workout form, the Rent the Runway store has permanently closed. I still get rental clothes in the mail, but I barely wore any of the clothes in my last shipment. Where would I wear them to? There is nowhere to go.

My ex-boyfriend is completely out of my life, slipped away, and it’s been nearly six months since we had an actual conversation, and yet, his shadow looms, cold and heavy. My friend C. moved to LA a few months ago, where she is dating a 26-year-old, and I see her vague-booking Instagram stories aimed at him, random italics about being someone’s priority and not their option, and when she called me the other night, I had my phone in my hands and I watched the screen until her name disappeared.

Why don’t I want to talk to her, I asked myself. And why don’t want to talk to my other friend, J, in SF, the one who a few hours ago told me she’s moving to Santa Cruz with her work friend who she cheated on her long-distance boyfriend with for most of the pandemic (and who she ditched me for on Thanksgiving)?

The answer was clear as day: I don’t want to perform. Don’t want to adopt my usual way of being when I talk to either of these friends.

How are you, J texted me yesterday, but before I could respond, she told me that her back hurts. Ugh, she wrote.

Not great, is what I wanted to say to her, but instead, I just typed, “Because your boobs are too big?”

She laughed at that, but I just felt lonely.

**BUT SAW PROSEBOX BFFFFFFFF YESTERDAY WHICH WAS SO GOOD