my date got rainchecked cuzza the state of emergency

It’s of course frustrating on just a superficial civilian level to look on local Instagram pages like OnlyinDade or LifestyleMiami and see that all this shit’s happening with spring break: shootings on Ocean Drive, restaurants getting trashed, crazy reams of plastic and garbage being left on the shoreline. 

But it’s also frustrating for personal reasons that I’m reluctant to acknowledge. 

Petty shit. 

And it’s this:

Tonight, Sunday, was supposed to be my first date in I don’t even know how long. 

Two months? Three?

We met on Hinge, a dating app, and had a nice exchange and she lives on South Beach and wanted to go to a bar closer to her apartment than to mine, which is fine, so she picked one out and I agreed to meet her there tonight, Sunday evening. 

But then the beach melted.

I’m looking at the news and I see that SoBe’s on an 8 p.m. curfew. 

Shortly after that I go on Instagram and see videos of cars on fire, gunshots on Ocean Drive, fist fights, dudes getting tackled and throttled in the street by bartenders after trying to bail on their bar tabs.

Also, the traffic looks fucking insane, both going in to South Beach and leaving it. 

So I opened my Uber app and checked what it would cost to get a ride to this SoBe bar where my Hinge match and I would meet and have a drink and go through the motions.

$50 for a four-mile drive.

I send her a text saying that, things being as they are, maybe we should reschedule. 

She says sure. 

So I go from the coffee shop to Batch in the afternoon, where my friend Bob’s supposed to join me, but I get there a little early, and while I’m sitting there sipping my beer at 4:30 I start thinking about why it is that I’m so fucking distraught about this raincheck. 

Look at this rationally: it’s fine. 

I’m talking to someone, it’s going well, a weird thing is happening in the city, so we have to postpone our date.

But it’s fucking with em.

And I think I’ve touched on something.

It isn’t just that I haven’t been on a date in a long time, or that I haven’t had sex or whatever–the issue, my friend, is that–and I’m not shitting you on this–I don’t remember the last time I hugged somebody. I mean I’m sure it’s happened in the last three months, because I’ve somehow managed to get laid in that time, and I imagine there was an embrace or two along the way, but when it comes to daily interactions…I just don’t remember when I last threw my arms around a person, or had somebody put theirs around me. 

I can’t claim to be floundering in some sort of romantic desert, because I spent a few good nights with somebody not very long ago, but I’m definitely floundering in something.

Not sure how to make sense of it. 

There are larger issues having to do with my writing and podcasting and all that creative stuff.

Shit just isn’t going all that well at the moment.

And I’m sure the moment will pass! I don’t mean to be doom-n-gloom. 

I’m just saying, in the interest of candor and of keeping you honestly appraised of where I am and what I’m up to: This particular moment, at the end of March, 2021, is a bit of a rotten one.

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