Archive

Tag Archives: depression

Part III

September 20, 2026
Romance
Leave a comment

Shasta responded.

She invited a mutual friend, Jenn, because a one on one was apparently too much of a declaration at that stage. This was fine. Jenn and I had been even closer than Shasta back in the day, so she eased the situation considerably. The three of us went out a few times.

One night we ended up at her friend’s place on Capitol Hill. It was one of those wholesome, warm and cozy evenings. We measured our height against the wall and drew lines in pencil. Then, someone produced cocaine. This was apparently just something everyone did back then, in that circle, in that era. I had very little experience with it and my inexperience was obvious.

I sneezed on the plate.

Shasta’s reaction was immediate and involuntary. Duuuude. I mean come on. The kind of exasperation that only exists between people who are almost close enough that something like this is allowed. I recovered by doing the next line without blinking, which seemed to be the correct move, because the temperature in the room returned to normal.

Then, near the end of the night, the room turned on me.

Not gradually. Literally. The whole room turned and looked at me and someone asked where I was staying. Shasta was across the room. We hadn’t discussed anything. The question had no correct answer in public so I got up and left.

Wrong move.

The next day was some kind of public drinking event. Shasta was clearly mad. She didn’t respond to me until afternoon. By that point I had been at the event alone for hours, constantly moving so I didn’t seem out of place. This experience was a particular brand of hell. The performance of belonging when you are completely alone, in a crowd, waiting for someone to let you back in. It was the worst sustained experience of that period in my life. And I would do it again.

She eventually responded. She let me back in. We went dancing. Her best friend became a kind of ambient third presence for the night. The three of us held hands and meandered back and forth. At the club I danced with both of them. It wasn’t so much a ‘three-person’ dynamic as it was an expression of the closeness they had, and they had admitted me in. I don’t exactly remember how the night ended, but it resulted in me going home alone. All I remember is that it was logistical, procedural; it wasn’t the desired outcome.

We tried one last time.

She invited me out. I waited in line for an hour before someone told me it was cash cover only. I had recently updated my card. I did not know the new pin. I had no cash and no means of getting cash and there was no version of this night where I was getting inside that venue. I had to go home.

The disappointment felt like a rupture. The world went offline. I was an absolute failure, and it was my fault. I was certain she never wanted to see me again, even though I had no reason to believe that.

She never followed up.

Neither did I.

My Girlfriend for Two Days

October 19, 2025
Romance
Leave a comment

I was deep in the college party and bar scene when Sabrina came front and center. Everyone knew everyone, or pretended to. Sabrina had been an ancillary figure in our group, always there at the edges, bumming cigarettes on the porch, but suddenly she was throwing herself at me with an intensity that felt both flattering and overwhelming.

We’d end up on barstools that wobbled, her knee pressed against mine while she leaned in close enough that I could smell her perfume mixing with whiskey. The way she looked at me felt like I was being selected, pulled from the crowd into some private frequency. In retrospect, she was attracted to my social role and image in that world. I was part of her extended friend group, had the same habits, and moved in the same circles.

It escalated to official dating status in a matter of days. We were socially aligned, attractive to each other, sexually compatible. It felt good, or at least it felt like it should feel good.

But I suffered from depression and anxiety that would come in unpredictable waves. One evening we were sitting on the stoop smoking cigarettes; the air was thick and still. I don’t remember what led to it, but I admitted I sometimes had crippling anxiety.

The moment I said it, her face changed. Not gradually, instant – like a door slamming. Her mouth twisted into something between disgust and confusion. “Okay…” she said, drawing out the word with such contempt that I can still hear the exact pitch of it. Then she stood up, dropped her cigarette, and left.

I don’t remember the exact breakup conversation, but that was functionally it.

She was still around constantly, though, and the reality of the bomb I’d dodged quickly surfaced. I watched her throw herself at every guy in our group with the same aggressive focus she’d used on me. The same lean-in at the bar, the same intensity that had felt flattering when it was aimed at me. Everyone saw it. Everybody resisted.

One time she was over when some guy approached the front stoop. He didn’t knock, didn’t hesitate, just walked up and punched someone in our group square in the face. No words, no warning. We all lost our shit. At some point during the chaos, he dropped a screwdriver on the ground, a weapon he’d been carrying. I watched Sabrina quietly pick it up and slip it into her purse, like she was collecting something that belonged to her.

I realized then she’d had him come over to meet her. He wasn’t random, he was hers. It revealed everything about her taste in men.

fuck-giving quotient

April 6, 2012
Introspection
3 Comments

The Fuck-Giving Quotient

This ratio is comprised of fucks-given to fucks-received; whose ideal is to remain as close to 0 as possible. Let’s explore the nuances.

  • The fuck is the essential, indivisible unit for this analysis. Thus fucks given and fucks received are of equal value; transactions can be comprised of many fucks, increasing the magnitude of the ratio. However, for the purpose of this model, the ratio is reduced to manageable figures.
  • If giving a fuck is to be avoided, the fuck given is something better off possessed. Thus fucks are a coveted psychic currency.
  • As fucks are psychic currency–immaterial–there is no determinate finite quantity. Fiat, if you will. They can be printed. But as they are also inherently valuable, inflation does not apply.
  • As currency, transactions are voluntary.

The danger in “Not giving a fuck” is the purpose behind this definition. In an intersocial, and intrasocial economy, a lack of cash-flow (fuck-flow) leads to a depression.

It’s rational self-interest in a depression to save your $ (fucks) and avoid expenditure. Thus, commonly a defense mantra, “I don’t give a fuck” is in reference to fuck-scarcity a priori.

The solution is a stimulated economy. To merely not give a fuck exacerbates the problem; fucks must be given. But a fuck-investor will not haphazardly place these investments; they must be smart investments and yield a return.

Of course it’s wise to be frugal where you invest yourself, in what you give a fuck for. So do continue not giving fucks as necessary.

I recommend a 1:3 fucks given to received. Here’s why.

  • If you give one fuck and receive one fuck, the ratio is 1. This is technically sustainable, better than alternatives, but alas you’re stagnant. Only from a growing portfolio are you likely to be invested in.
  • If you give one fuck and receive two, the ratio is .5. Keep it up, but this rounds up to 1. You can do better.
  • If you give one fuck and receive three: Now we’re talking business.
  • If you give zero fucks and receive any, you’re feudal lord status.
  • Zero given and zero received means you’re dead.

The moral of the story is to monitor your fuck-giving quotient. For what all you give, what is the return?