Nobody Claps Anymore 

You’ll think in psychedelics, iambic pentameter, and superposition, but speak in abbreviations.

You’ll convince yourself your grandmother lived a good life, as you say goodbye in a government-assisted nursing home. You’ll try not to think about how her dying pains are the same aches you endure today. 

You’ll sit in traffic and look through grocery store windows, watching as middle-aged men mop floors and clean windows. 

You’ll read about a gifted child entering a life you once dreamed of. You’ll tell yourself, “I could have done that,” and at the dive bar on Thursday night, you’ll tell the person beside you the same thing. 

You’ll learn the logistics and mechanics of software engineering in college, to one day qualify to take lunch orders and drive Lyft. 

You’ll date online. He will “know a spot,” one that all his matches have seen before.

You’ll send naked photos to a man you’ve never met. His nice words will mean a lot.

You’ll take two to three vacations a year. Cuba, or Dominican, maybe Jamaica. It doesn’t matter, you’ll stay at the same resort chain.

You’ll file your taxes and fill out spreadsheets in your office until you’re dismissed. You’ll buy $12 grapes. 

You’ll notice the days look the same. January 1st is tomorrow again. Pop the cork! Watch the ball drop! Blow the horns and kiss your Tinder match! Tomorrow is the start of the same day you had yesterday.

You’ll dread the morning sun but yearn for the moments in bed when you think of how it could have been.  

You’ll fight with your only friend, and your childhood dog will die. 

You’ll apply for disability because a lady with a Master’s labelled your mind as ill. You’ll take mood stabilizer pills to stop feeling so much. You’ll conspire Big Pharma quietly to yourself. 

You’ll reach for the Sunshine List and land on the poverty line. 

You’ll watch Cowspiracy one night and pledge to go vegan but will treat yourself to meat on the weekends and sweet cold foam on your iced lattes every morning. You’ll eat fish because “they don’t have feelings,” and does dairy really count as meat?

You’ll wonder why you never feel real. 

You’ll never fully fall in love. But why? Everyone online is a licensed dating coach. Listen to their two-minute-long video at two times the speed, and take notes. 

“Men like playful and easy, but those aren’t wife traits, so throw on a sundress and revirginize.” 

“Women like indirect but be direct, try expressing your emotions but don’t give her the ick.”

You’ll meet the love of your life, but after three months you’ll hate her. You’ll marry and reproduce. Pay for full service with money from your 9-5. 

You’ll tell your crying children how their pain is minuscule compared to your own. 

You’ll throw dimes in mall fountains. 

You’ll see your mother sick and then die. 

You’ll get fired over Zoom. 

You’ll hate your husband and wish you married The Funny One. 

You’ll claim to struggle with monogamy.

“I’m just not ready for anything serious right now, but I’m down to hold you in my arms all night and tell you how perfect you are.”  

You’ll retell stories from high school and gossip about people on the internet. 

You’ll turn to religion. 

You’ll get sick in May. The clinic closes at 2 p.m. and your doctor prefers to E-Meet. 

You’ll watch porn under the covers to fall asleep.  

You’ll dream but never achieve. 

You’ll go through your life, seeing and hearing, working and driving, until what’s left of your existence is an inactive digital footprint. 

You’ll hate your life, each day, and yourself. You’ll cry every birthday and curse your mother for her creation. 

You’ll want to get better and change, but for what? 

You’ll hit your head with an opened palm and dig your nails into your chest. 

You’ll look at three things, hear three things, and move three body parts. You’ll panic more because that never seems to work.

You’ll blame Big Pharma and probably your father.

You’ll wait. 

You’ll buy a sweet treat.