My sister got the seven year itch, from me. We have been roommates for seven years and she’s packing up her things and taking the show on the road. Moving to Portland Maine. Someplace unaccessable by subway.
It’s like a break up. I’m kinda hoping I respond by hooking up with a bunch of guys.
My coping mechanisms have never included extreme promiscuity which is unfortunate for me and the men in my immediate line of vision.
The thing is, I cope with change like a wild animal who spots its predator.
I freeze. I remain still and stoic. The weird, nonreactive behavior is noticeable. People are like “are you Ok?” I stand like a physically catatonic stress victim “I’m fine” I respond.
“You don’t seem like you”
I move my eyes so they know I am alive.
I’ve never been much of a crier. Ever. Even as a kid I never thought to cry about things
I feel like I was always one to strategize.
Like “oh I can’t have cake now well how about I act slighty annoyed at that information but just wait til you try to sleep through the night you stingy cake controlling parent you”
Sometimes my reaction is delayed, for years.
“Kendra, why are you crying?”
“I can’t believe Boris broke up with me”
“That was 5 years ago”
I know this is going to be one of those situations.
“Kendra, whats this box of stuff in the middle of the living room?”
“Oh, that’s from my sister’s move”
“That move was like three years ago?”
I’m the Leslie Nielson of personal problems.
I have been feeling very Naked Gunnish lately. Somebody asked me to recommend a good date spot recently. The place I suggested had been closed for two years. I’m not much for dating but I will point out what is wrong with everybody else’s relationships. No problem.
I’m a ruthless relationship critic.
Is there any money in that?
Thanks for listening!
Kendra is a stand-up comic living in Brooklyn where she owns a super comfortable bed. She spends most of her time wondering where the hell her sugar daddy is and hoping he didn’t settle.