Bad-mannered 23

I sit alone on the couch of my living room looking for the uninteresting TV screen. It’s past midnight and it’s my birthday. There’s emptiness in these walls and there’s silence. Maybe it’s loneliness. That’s what you get for not liking people that much. Then you miss those little romantic wanna be moments and only have darkness and considerations left as companions. Can you live like that forever? I suppose I can.

    Then the phone rings. A message. A beautiful message. It’s from Google. Happy birthday, Filipe Amorim. Enjoy your day. Well, thanks AI. I appreciate you. I guess it pays off having access to my location and to all my private stuff. I love you back.

   I went outside just before midnight to stare at the dim rainy sky. I was about to make a wish to the entity I hope reads my thoughts but then my younger brother comes up. Happy birthday, buddy; I was the first one again, weren’t I? (of course he was; it wasn't even midnight). You were, buddy. Thank you. He went back upstairs and there I stood with the wind for a few seconds. I let the wish fly away without trying to materialize it in my head. If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, it happens as well.

    I like this complaining stuff. Because it actually doesn’t bother me at all. It’s just poetic to perceive it like this, I suppose. And the thing is that there’s a whole other side to this story. Perceptions. There's a whole other reality that also happened:

    I finished a big family meal after a job interview and audition that went really great. I ate this amazing tender cod and shrimps and my mother also cooked tomato rice. I tasted it, but I personally do not like that mixture. I love french potatoes with ice cream or cookies with cheese. But I really do not appreciate tomato rice with beans. Give me the rice, give me the tomato and give me the beans. I will gladly eat it all. Just don’t blend it.

    As I stood there with a full stomach I considered having dessert – Peanuts, of course. I love peanuts as dessert. Or as breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner. God, I fucking love peanuts, what the hell. What a pleasurely invention. Having to sit there to erotically peel it while listening to its crack and then eat it. But I was really full so decided to have a coke just to finish with a proper drink. A diet coke, of course. Then I had another.

    My brother got out of the table after this Jeff Bezos’ on a big dick rocket TV report and my mother and father looked like zombies after having the second dose of Pfizer. They went to bed and I went to the couch where I gladly sleep. A TV series episode. Another diet coke, but this time with whisky. Then a Hunter S. Thompson documentary. Then another whisky. What an interesting fella this Hunter guy. Who said a writer couldn't be a rock star? He killed himself just because he felt like it. And during the course of his life he kept saying that’s how he wanted and would go. Suicide is a subject to debate. But we can’t. Hemingway, who turns 122 when I turn 23, also killed himself. With a freaking shotgun. How does one even do that?

    I didn’t receive a Google message after midnight. That was during my morning coffee while finding out I had to pay 60€ just to register a screenplay. Fucking intelectual exploits. Anyway, after midnight I actually got this beautiful big text from a friend. I read it and loved it. Then I remembered I obviously had to reply to it. And I correctly assumed she wouldn’t accept a two lines thank you note. So I had to write this big appreciation text. That’s how currency works. No excuses. Speaking of currency. Thank you Elon Musk for completely shatter the money I invested on Dodge Coin. Ethereum and all the others also followed that downwards path afterwards so there goes my 500€. The only reason I would still purchase a Tesla is because I have faith this situation changes for the better.

    But yeah. After that big message I received a smaller one. My thumbs were happy. Oh, and my brother was just on time. So this second text was from this girl who owns a crater in my heart. It was 1 a.m. or something. "Nooo!!, is it your birthday? Nop… it’s next friday. Nah, liar. I swear. It’s today isn’t it? Friday. Stop it!, happy birthday!!, OMG, how many?, 10? Funny… thank you for saving your words; people often think larger letters mean the most. Yeah, I figure you would appreciate it. Yeah, but it’s on friday, tho. Shut up, I know it isn’t, I know it’s on the 21st. Oh, okay, is it yours on friday, then? Yes. Gotcha. OMG, I love you so much [three heart emojis], Happy birthday! Oh, you’re gorgeous. No, seriously, I didn’t remember at first, but then I did. Thank you, anonimous [smiley face] for real [heart emoji]. So what are you going to do to celebrate? Well, I left the window open, so the room is full of mosquitoes. Oh. So I will fill the air with bugs’ spray, go to sleep and wake up stoned."

    That’s what 23 looks like, I guess. And I'm grateful.