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Hmm. This is seriously so strange. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this whole personal-essay-on-the-internet thing. I’m trying to find a mix of being vulnerable, but being creative, yet not telling too much for fear of judgment. Having an online diary is like knowing my Mom has found my diary and will read every future entry. This is scary. I’ve gone through my collection and decided not to post certain things because they’re “too much” of something. How do you other bloggers do this? 

Though, here I am with a promise, to you and to myself, to be vulnerable for my Friday posts. So I will post another personal essay; for now, playing it safe.

*Note, I identified as straight for some time so… ya. Also, I left out the last part of this piece, because again, I’m fearing the consequences of telling all.  So this is just an excerpt. One day I’ll feel comfortable about it.
**Also note, I’m just practicing how to write like a memoirist. This story has no significance to my life or the greater scheme of things. It’s a raw recounting of a random memory. 

We’ll call this one, “That one time”

“Yeah, you should totally come by!” I said with a coy smile on my face. To the stranger, well, a customer. I continued, “I mean, I’m pretty much all moved out so there’s just an air mattress and a couple of boxes in my room, but we can kick it on the floor!”
“For sure, I’m cool with that,” he said with a huge smile on his face. “You have my number in the system… text me your address.”
His body turned toward the door, but his face stayed on mine. His smile never left, even as he pressed the tanning salon door open. I watched him walk all the way to his car. He paused, looked back at me, still smiling, got in, and drove away. I wasted no time jumping into his account and writing his phone number down.
The rest of the night at work flew by. I was closing, so I did what I usually did. Half-assed the cleaning procedure marked ‘completed’ on the closing checklist even though I didn’t do everything, and locked up. Before I could even get to my car I sent him a text.
“Hey, it’s Tara! From Unique Tan. My address is: ___ & I’m on my way home now.”
I raced home, tried to freshen up, with what I had left behind, and waited. Without fail, I got a text saying “here” right at 10:00pm. The exact time he said he’d be here. I nervously answered the door and Mr. right now had Mr. right in his hands, Captain Morgan.
Captain and I had a love-hate relationship. By this, I mean I could drink the whole bottle without a hangover the next day, but for some reason, I always blacked out.
Tonight was no different. He and I sat crossed legged on the floor, in my almost empty room, passing the bottle and a can of coke back and forth. We only left for occasional cigarettes in the backyard. He told me about his family and I told him about my new adventure of moving to a different County. By the time we reached our 7th cigarette, the bottle was close to empty and I was drunk.

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