4

Being Physically Unable To Relax

You'd think that with no one around, it'd be easy to finally get in some of that good no-pants-and-kind-of-drunk relaxation you've been craving. It's just you and whatever you do that pulls you out of the world and makes you melt into the couch. Be around someone long enough, and you'll find that it's next to impossible to feel calm unless you lower the standard to pacing while cranking up the playback speed to see if you can speed-read an audiobook. The side effects of missing the company of someone you love sound like being on meth.

My brain's natural reaction to boredom is to kill it; no remorse, no survivors. So it releases an elite squad of soldier brain cells to end my boredom's reign once and for all. They have the discretion of an atom bomb. Where light reading or watching a couple episodes of a show might do the trick, the squad suggests weird shit like trying to bounce a racket ball from hand to hand for as long as I can while listening to an '80s hair metal playlist at 2 a.m. This is where I remind you that this part of the column is about relaxing. One day soon, the squad will go AWOL and live off the grid and suggest I prepare for bed by wingsuiting through a canyon.

Then there are times when I'm on the cusp of relaxation, and it's interrupted by a sudden deep fascination with whatever lulled me. One night, when I was already tucked into bed, wearing my jammies and my long sleeping cap with the fuzzy ball at the end, I was flicking through whatever YouTube's recommendation algorithm spat at me. Suddenly, like an 18-wheeler into my REM cycle, it gave me a whole list of ESPN's 30 for 30 shorts. Seconds before sleep, I fucked up and clicked on The Bad Boy Of Bowling, a shockingly compelling documentary about an all-time great pro bowler who doesn't play by your tight-assed rules of decorum. And then a short about the history of the most despised mascot in all of baseball autoplayed right after. And then one on the history of the high five in professional spo- WHAT THE FUCK HOW IS IT DAWN.

Once video becomes the crutch, things start to go downhill pretty fast, in the most boring way possible.

3

Having No Hobby, I Watch Videos Of People With Hobbies

Around the time that you're making a strikingly lifelike facsimile of your spouse out of pillows so you can have someone to gab with as you binge Gilmore Girls, you'll realize you should have developed a hobby. And not just a "see how many marshmallows you can fit in your mouth"-type hobby or a "see if I can meow in a way that the cat thinks that there's another cat in the house"-type hobby, but a hobby that demands solid crafting skills, attention to detail, and hours of undivided focus.

2

Childhood Fears Of Monsters Return With A Vengeance

With another person, any noise in the house is easily ignorable. It's just the building settling after a long hot day. Remove a person, and that sound means the house's demon is telling you to get out. Without realizing it, all this time together turns your significant other into a security blanket that wards off all irrational supernatural evils. You know there's no one else around, so any errant noise must not only be someone else, but a something else.

1

All Of Your Dietary Constraints Go Out The Door

A good partner is a moderating influence. They'll let you get away with an extra slice of cake now and again, but they'll stop you from trying to swallow the whole thing in one gulp like it's an Advil. As much as we'd all like to believe we're an island (even one with smoke monsters), we are social creatures. We need human contact. Remove the primary source of contact, and it's only a matter of time before you're trying to fill the void of the other person with a vice, like food, as if calories and a carbs are a suitable replacement for love when all they usually deliver is loose stools.

Without someone to keep me in check, I end up falling into a pit of indulgence that ends up eating at me. I do all the cooking in our home. I make sure we eat sensibly. I love my wife and want to protect her, even from foods that could do her harm in the long run. I don't want her heart to explode in 30 years, and as she's clutching my neck she whispers with her final breath that it was my twice-weekly bacon, guava, and brie grilled cheeses that did this. I did this, with the destruction power of my BGB sandwiches.

Me without my wife plus about four days equals driving out of the Taco Bell drive thru and deciding that the only thing that can wash down these two Quesoridos is a 12-inch Italian sub. When I have no one else to elevate my self-respect game, my weaknesses shine. If I'm only responsible for my heath, things are going to get gross. Including more feels like manslaughter, and explaining the aftermath feels like a crime scene.

When my wife gets back, everything adjusts back to normal. This happens every time she leaves. If I'm an inflatable wacky arm tube guy at a car dealership, then she's the power plug that blows air up my ass to make me dance. Take it out and I fall into a sack of my own skin.

Luis is sitting on the couch watching TV with his wife. In the meantime, you can find him on Twitter, Tumblr, and Facebook.

Tell the world you don't need to play by any of society's rules (except for commerce and some other stuff) with this renegade cat mug!

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