"You went on ten Tinder dates in one month?" he asked, his eyes looking just past my shoulder. I cleared my throat. "Yes," I said finally. I'll admit, halfway through the project I felt the realization that everyone must have had of me: girl goes on ten Tinder dates in one month. “What. Is. Her. Deal.” I can't tell you what overcame me. But maybe it was a combination of things. Like instead of a drug cocktail, I was pumped full of emotions: anger, sadness, loneliness. Anger kept me up at night. To keep with the theme, I guess you could say the anger was my Adderall. And damn did that anger keep me wired. I didn't sleep. I just wrote. I wrote all the time. I wrote five pages in fifteen minutes and it always felt like I was churning out my best work. I would press the pen, gripping it against my calloused ring finger and write. The sadness was my whiskey sour. And you know what they say about mixing your alcohol with your Adderral. It's dangerous business. So while I was writing and turning page after page of things that I thought were my masterful works of art: I cried. I cried everyday until I realized I hadn’t gone a day without crying. Tears just flowed out of me as easily as breathing. Sometimes I didn’t even notice. It was that inherent. Then add loneliness on top of that. Loneliness here will be social media. Because yes, social media is a drug. And yes, my wired, whiskey sour filled body was a mess because of the swipes and the likes and the views. The views man, they were the real killer. People were always watching.
Even though I was on my own form of emotion cocktail, I did have a plan. Because you don't go on ten Tinder dates in one month without a plan, without a goal. See, I had one. I had rules and guidelines. I had a pitch. I had an outline. I had everything except what I wanted.
The guy looked back at me. I could see his expression on his face as the bar lights turned back on. "So did you meet someone?" he asked.
The music went quiet. Everyone in the bar started to herd out from the entrance. I looked towards the exit. I’d written everything except the ending. I looked back at him.
It was the question everyone wanted to know.