What day is it today?

Thursday. It’s Thursday. This is why I always start my posts with the day of the week. Sometimes I legitimately have to check what day it is, especially in Hong Kong. Hong Kong days are so long. We work in three shifts: HK hours, London hours, and New York hours. California can wait.

I had another very vivid nightmare last night. I don’t even want to talk about it. It was so bad, I literally woke up shaking. All I could feel was The Rage seeping out of me. I immediately got out of bed and went up to the rooftop to have a cigarette. In that moment, I wished more than anything it was cannabis. I just wanted to calm down.

I tried to breathe my way through it, but I couldn’t. I just wanted to wipe it from my brain immediately. I thought to myself, “This is exactly why I don’t keep alcohol in my house.” Then I remembered I had exactly one last beer in the fridge.

I succumbed to my worst instincts in that sad, desperate moment. I grabbed it out of the fridge in spite of the fact that it was about 10:00 in the morning, cracked it open, and started drinking. The only thing that prevented me from going full Shotgun was the fact that it was cold. Also, I’m not a fucking frat boy. I’m a lady. I prefer to remain somewhat civilized and drink it out of a go-cup.

I was determined not to let this nightmare destroy my day, so I decided to put on my “Self-Esteem Booster Playlist” on Spotify instead. This epic playlist features classics such as “Area Codes” by Ludacris, “Pimp Juice” by Nelly, and “Come and Get Your Love” by Redbone. I just added “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?” By Rod Stewart yesterday, so I started with that one in honor of my Hot Beef Stew. I immediately felt better once I heard it. This is his official theme song now.

So there I was, dancing away my anger and pain in the confines of my tiny little shoebox of an apartment, all to this absolutely ridiculous song. I turned around and saw him sitting on the edge of my bed, watching me dance with the same look in his eyes as he had that night in my apartment. He just shook his head at me and laughed.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why do they all hate me so much?”

“They’re jealous,” he replied. “You don’t even know what you look like right now, do you?”

“Like a crazy person who self-medicates with booze because they can’t handle the weight of the trauma they’re carrying?”

He shook his head again.

“You’re a cock in a hen house,” he said.

“What?”

“I mean, you’re a hen in the rooster house.”

“Roosters don’t live in a house. They wander about the yard and wake everyone up with their obnoxious caw. Always disturbing the peace, those roosters.”

He looked visibly frustrated in that moment, as if he was trying to express something to me in a language I could not understand.

“The hens and the cocks. They keep them separated. Do you understand? You’re like a hen who wandered into the rooster house. You’re not supposed to be in there. That’s why you’ve got their feathers all in a ruffle. Do you understand?”

“Are you speaking Irish or Arabic to me right now? Because I only understand one of these languages, and it’s not Irish. Do you understand?”

He looked at me with frustration again.

“Can you please speak English instead?” I asked. “I’m sorry. I’m American. I’m not used to all your flowery metaphors. We are very direct with each other over there.”

“I thought you said you were a farm girl.”

“I said I lived in South Dakota. I grew up outside of Washington, DC. Just because I lived out in the country once doesn’t mean I’m a farm girl. Do you even know how much work that shit is? I could never live on a farm. I am a stone-cold city girl at heart.”

He looked at the ground, searching for the words again.

“They hate you because they want to fuck you and they can’t. That’s why they all come to Thailand. They can’t get women like you back home, so they flock to a place where it’s easy for them. You remind them of the fact that they are losers back home. Nothing more than common riff-raff down by the docks. Do you understand me now?”

I looked him up and down as the realization finally dawned on me.

“I see what you’re saying, but I’ve always been that way. Always. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been the only woman in a room full of men. That’s just how I am.”

“Are you sure you’re not a lesbian?”

I looked him up and down again.

“Oh, honey, I’m sure I’m not. Bisexual, yes, definitely. But a full-on lesbian? No way. That would be like going vegetarian for me. Sure, I like a good side salad every now and again, but I’m not going to give up cheeseburgers just to graze the grass for the rest of my life. Do you understand?”

He started laughing in spite of himself as he buried his face in his hands.

“You’re really something, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea.”

“You should go hike up The Peak today,” he said. “It will be good for you. Remind you why you came to Hong Kong in the first place.”

“You’re right.”

“I know.”

I finished my beer as I watched him disappear again. Then I changed into my yoga clothes, put on my walking shoes, and made my way to the cafe downstairs. I sat down at the table, opened up my laptop, and I wrote our story.

So now I’ve done it. I wrote my story for the day. Now I’m on my way to hike up The Peak and remind myself that I came here to climb the ladder to the top, not to spend my days crying in bed over dumb shit that doesn’t matter.

The End.