Finding My Place

Cocoon VS Club

Tell me when my Friday nights stopped consisting of 10 outfit changes, Aldi's answer to Malibu and singing Beyonce's Single Ladies like it was written for me, to swiping endlessly through the TikTok algorithm in my pyjamas, with a mug of oat milk hot chocolate. My dilemmas no longer consist of the classics of jeans and a nice top vs. a tit-exposing dress, but now online shopping for bedding and decorative pillow combinations. To take the plunge and purchase the white bedding I've had my eye on, and ignore the risk of day-old make-up stains on the pillow, or Dorito dust and melted chocolate smeared on the duvet. Where I could drink every flavour of VK at pre-drinks, I now can't finish a second glass of wine without feeling its influence. My social media is a mix of bottomless brunches, engagement announcements, and gender reveals. The endless swipes of white gowns, smiling faces dangling keys in front of their new homes, or bikini-clad bodies lying on white sand beaches in the Mediterranean, fill my vision,  but I cannot seem to look away from them.

To combat my lack of love, social, and general personal life, I read. Usually, it is a spicy romance. Connections that start with stolen glances, to fucking senseless in the office, and end with proclamations of love. So there I was, 10 pm on a Friday night, pyjamas on, hair scrapped back by a headband with frog ears attached (a Christmas present curtsey of my mother), face covered in acne cream to combat the latest breakdown (genetics curtsey of my father) reading my way through another couples trip through a sexually charged romance. My phone's obnoxious ringtone filled the room, interrupting the fictitious couples first fucking. Like dangling a juicy carrot in front of a sex-starved donkey. My groan was audible over the ringing penetrating my ears.

I didn't need to look, I knew who was calling, Jen. A friend since school, Jen was always the sociable one. Even as we'd gotten older, and our social circles inevitably shrank once returning home from University, she always seemed to be up for socialising. Even the thought exhausted me. I picked up my phone like it weighted a ton and answered. The heavy base of The Weeknd's Star Boy deafened me through the speakers, before the familiar tones of Jen's husky voice came through the speaker.

"Daphneeeeee, where you too?" I have a tequila and lime with your name written all over it"

I dry heave at the thought.

"Brighton 2016, I still feel the hangover, Jen" that earns a chuckle from the other end.

"Come and play, it's been foreveeerrrr." Jen pleaded.

I take note of the catalogue of excuses to ensure I could maintain my position within my blanket fort of solitude;

'I have to be up early tomorrow morning', but then the 20 questions on what plans would require my notorious night owl sleeping pattern to get up before 10 on a weekend.

'I'm getting ready to meet some friends', what fucking friends? What friends could I be meeting who didn't have their own independent friendship to Jen? No, that lie was too easy to uncover.

'I'm on a date', that could work! A first date would only require some basic information. Right names for my fictional potential lover.....I hated lying to Jen, I loved seeing her. I missed her terribly!

I guess I could go, force myself to be social able for an hour or two, and then return to my pit of a bedroom. Although contemplating that option springs into viewpoint whole heap of effort, shit shower, shave, outfits, make up, hair, transport. A voice on the other end brings me back into the conversation.

"Get your ass here, I want to see your face. It's been well over a month, if not two!"

Had it really been that long? No, surely not!

"Give over, I only saw you the other day at in Bath!" I said confidently with a chuckle.

"Babe, that was 2 months ago,"