I would like to tell a story. I hadn’t planned on writing any more at all, but this story wrote itself. The only way to tell this story is with complete honesty, so I’ll try not to embellish.

We will start with the dirty truth; the holidays turned out to be harder than I thought they would be. I quit my job and crawled onto the couch. I know that this makes no sense. I could probably explain why in greater detail, but we would need to dislodge your view of reality in order for you to hear it.

Should you ever decide to go crazy, there are a few things for which you need to prepare yourself. High on this list is the smell. If you sit on a couch for weeks at time, you really start to smell bad. I actually have a bottle of air freshener right here next to me in case somebody comes over.

So, there I was yesterday in this smelly pit of despair, when the thought of a steak popped into my head. It started as just a nugget of an idea, but as my hunger grew it became an obsession. By seven in the evening, I decided I was willing to give the idea a chance

The first step was a shower, and although a shower doesn’t sound like a challenge to you, it actually can be. The depression beard is tougher than the regular beard and it feels like you have to chisel the damn thing off. There will also be the shower crying. Sounds gay, I know, but a big selling point to the “lay on the couch and just give up plan” is the fact that should you drink enough, you don’t feel anything. Unfortunately, the moment you let hot water run over your head, your head starts working again. Should you ever have a friend spiraling out of control under the weight of immense sadness, you should get them to take a shower.

When I looked in the mirror after the shower I was kind of impressed. Maybe not impressed; it’s not like I would have handed that reflection a set of car keys, but I gave myself at least a fifty/fifty shot at acquiring a steak and a cold beer. I asked my roommate if he would serve me a beer and a steak without calling the crazy van and he said he probably would. Good enough for me. I bundled up and walked to a restaurant called Hemingway’s; a small, quaint little artsy place about a half-mile from my house.

In a situation like this, you need to pick a good bar-stool, and when you have to sit at a bar, you try to find a stool that is not adjacent to any other occupied stools. This is the same logic that applies when choosing the correct urinal. Believe it or not, the only open spot that made sense for my steak challenge was right next to a beautiful woman. I also find this ironic. Finding a beautiful woman when you feel like it is the end of the world is a bit like being handed a million dollars in confederate currency. It should also be noted here that I find women beautiful that aren’t actually beautiful sometimes. Thankfully, I found a picture of the woman this morning on Facebook and she is actually beautiful… I think.

Here is where the story becomes interesting; 999 out of the 1000 times it will happen in your life, the best plan of action is not to talk to the pretty girl sitting next to you. Movies are wrong-don’t do it. I trust this math, so I tried to keep to myself, but the woman was having none of that. I responded to her attempt at conversation the way I do in these situations; I say terrible, ridiculous things.

I started by explaining that the oddest thing about crippling depression is that you still get horny. It’s not like you masturbate while crying or anything, but you do masturbate. She didn’t run-she laughed. I guess it is a little funny if you think about it. Please don’t think about it. You thought about it didn’t you?

After talking for a while, the woman and I left the bar and did the last thing you would possibly imagine me doing; we went to McDonald’s and had coffee. Probably not the ending you were looking for and we should maybe discuss how you need to get your mind out of the gutter. Regardless, it was the best ending possible.

I’ll not give the details (I want to keep that for me), but I will finally get to my point. While I listened to her story, I learned that she had spent years locked in a loveless marriage. What made her terribly sad story ironic is that I want to give up because I recently realized how long it takes to create real love and there is little chance I will ever be able to stay with anyone long enough to get there. I guess if there is a takeaway from this; it is that sometimes, even if you do everything right and put in the time, you might still get screwed. This sort of makes me feel better.

It was an amazing evening, but it eventually had to end. I now know that I know almost nothing at all, but I am certain that I didn’t want to get out of that car. I am probably worse for wear on this one. I don’t think I can find hope in the contrast between the real human connection I was leaving and the absolute terror that always seems to await me.

Do you want to hear the funny part of the story? I never ate the steak. I had been obsessed with the notion that I would look so scary that they wouldn’t serve me the steak. It never occurred to me that I would be unable to eat it.

I often turn to my version of god at times like this and last night was no different. I went back to my couch and looked to the sky and said, “Yeah… You’re real fucking funny… Asshole.”