under the overpass.

When it’s 1 in the morning and you walk up to the gas station counter with a can of spaghettios, a single serving packet of Advil PM and a bottle of Barefoot brand Cabernet Sauvignon for $4.99, you’re not fooling anybody. You’re a sad sack, dude.

So yeah, that was me 15 minutes ago. I moved; I don’t know if I mentioned that. I was living in the Rattlesnake with a couple of perfectly pleasant, smug outdoorsy guys, so needless to say, I had to get out of there. Now I live in a swelteringly hot attic apartment at the bottom of the hill, on the north side. The great thing is that I can walk everywhere, but still, there are changes. I forgot to move my cups with me, for example. Drinking straight out of the bottle. A few sips into this stuff my belly feels like it’s leaking acid, although surely that’s not the attic’s fault.

I didn’t realize what a good thing I had with the employees at my old 24-hour gas station. I set down my shit, they rang it up, and that was that.  The people at this new gas station just before the I90 on ramp, what can I say. They’re fucking nosey.

I set down the wine and the spaghettios and the advil PM. “Is that good wine?” she asks me.

Is that a serious question? The truth is I don’t know, as I have not bought this brand before, but I bet I can guess. I want to say “Shut the fuck up and leave me alone in this, my dark hour,” but instead I say, “I don’t know but I’m going to go ahead and take a wild guess that it’s not a good wine.” I buy Cabernet Sauvignon because the words are beautiful, even if the taste is not. Bitch, I’m a writer.

She says, “It’s just that people buy it all the time and I haven’t tried it yet.”

For 5 dollars, you can get enough alcohol to get both you and your dog drunk. At the bar that same amount buys you 1.2 drinks. So I’d say it comes down to a question of value more than quality.

I just realized I don’t have a can opener.

In order to get to the terrible gas station selling unpleasant things, you have to go through a long, spooky corridor that looks and sounds like Hell. I took this video the other night. There was a girl on the other side of the street in a similarly bleak tunnel singing to herself, a girl in worse shape than me if you can believe it. You can hear my shoes flop.

I am aware of the bleak nature of this post. I’m fine. I’m going to be just fine. What, you never get lonely?




Molly Laich Monthly Catch-Up Family Newsletter

Weirdest thing. My throat chakra is all sorts of fucked up and I’m having a hard time communicating.

Been downstairs in the lab brewing up some new life plans. I think about what a weirdo I am all the time and try often to come up with stunts to seem cool and casual and less weird. There are values to uphold of course. Being kind and good and thoughtful can sometimes make you boring or seem less smart, but it’s more important to be kind than to be right. Some of us can all agree on that.

Do you remember our second cousin? We’ll call her Meryl. Meryl’s been old her entire life but I think these days she’s around sixty. She wears glasses, shirts buttoned to the neck and polyester suits. It can’t be comfortable. Before dinner she sways back and forth and claws her nails into her knees. When I was younger she had two pet guinea pigs named Coco and something else. She brought them to all the family gatherings, or else she showed everyone pictures. (Imagine the conversation those inspired. None.)

She held them to her chest and it was very clear she loved the guinea pigs. In my memory I wanted to hold them but Meryl would have a panic attack if anyone else held them because she was afraid they would die. Denying an 8 year old a chance to hold a furry animal—this was my first taste of seeing a crazy person get away with whatever crazy shit they wanted.

Her guinea pigs ended up dying and Meryl was so devastated she got out of coming to family events for years. “Why doesn’t Meryl get new guinea pigs?” Every holiday I begged them to give me a real answer, and my Grandma would pat me on the knee and say “Shhh,” as she nodded the knowing family look that said, “Cousin Meryl is crazy, remember? Let it go.”

Why doesn’t Meryl just get more guinea pigs? What the fuck.

The point of this thing got away from me. I was trying to say that I hope to enact a new life-plan that emphasizes getting away with behaving however I want while still remaining vital, having relationships and making art. It’s not going to be easy. People still expect me to look them in the eye and pretend to care about dumb things…

Who else can we think of that is way cool and acts however they want? Marlon Brando? Roger Ebert? Bjork?

This could turn into a Charlie Sheen thing if we’re not careful.

This newsletter sucks. Go back to work.