I’m a woman who is very comfortable sitting at a bar without anything to do other than drink and stare at the television. I spent more than a few afternoons this way in Manhattan, and it was comforting to find a space & place where I could sit in my own relative silence and personal space while doing nothing other than staring at a bottle of Cointreau on a shelf.
I met a few friends for dinner, yesterday, and found that I was a fidgety mess at the bar.
Should I talk to the dorky kid next to me? Should I play video trivia? What’s on TV? Why is the bartender wearing blue eyeshadow? Are the 80s really back? Should I cut my hair? Why am I wearing baggy, cargo capris when my pants should be tighter?
I’m out of practice. In many ways, I’m too busy with the world of ‘unemployment’ to work on nurturing my self-isolationism and alcoholism. On the other hand, I miss being the confident girl at the bar who doesn’t need a friend.
The only friend I need, baby, is named Russian man named Stoli. I miss him.