As if summoned by the previous conversation in the drugstore, David Parker, my boss at the animal shelter, waved me down from across the street. David was a veterinarian who started the shelter just a few months ago.

He carried a stack of envelopes in his hand.  I waited and smiled at my boss, who was the epitome of Ken-doll handsome. Not that I noticed. It was just an observation. David was my boss. He was also taken -- engaged to a burly carpenter.

David stopped in front of me, his eyes flicking over my clothing. “I like your shirt.” Before I could reply he said, “I have an invitation for you.” He flipped through a stack of thick creamy envelopes. “Ah, here it is.” He pulled one out and pressed it in my hand. “Getting married seems more real when you start giving these out!” he grinned.

The guy practically glowed. David and Mike were both super nice, but their crazy-in-love ways were a little over the top for me. I forced what I hoped was an encouraging smile and took the envelope. “Thanks, man, and congratulations!”

“You’ll be at the shelter tomorrow, right?” David shaded his eyes from the sun and furrowed his brow. “I can’t be there, so I’m just making sure.”

“I’ll be there,” I said. “You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

David breathed out, a long sigh like he’d been holding his breath. “You are a lifesaver.” Then he noticed my purchases. “Hey, the fireman calendar! You’ll be a proper member of the town now! I’m sure they told you that the cover and another guy are from our town?”

“Yeah, they mentioned something like that.” I looked down at the cover and felt my cheeks burn as I surveyed the hunky fireman. I dropped the calendar down and held it against my leg.

“You know, both of those firemen are single,” David winked and grinned wider.

Was he expecting me to reply to that? If I am ever like that, I’m going to punch myself in the face.

I held a straight expression and tried not to let my thoughts betray me. “They mentioned that too,” I said, trying to sound as bored as possible so we could drop the subject.

Just then my phone buzzed. I hated that I had to carry this thing at all, but it was how everyone communicated. It was also how I looked up stuff for my projects when I visited the downtown hardware store. So I guess it had some uses.

“Excuse me a moment.” I pulled the phone out of my pocket and the notification flashed by.

Urgent! It’s really time to update! Rory has gone on the offensive.

I rolled my eyes and hit the power button.

“Everything okay?” David frowned at me, concern lining his face.

“Never better,” I chirped as I shoved the phone back into my pocket.

“Well, if you need to be set up for your plus one, just let me know.  Mike and I can find you someone,” David said.

I blinked. Plus one? I looked at the envelope and sure enough, plus one, right on the address. “I could just take Sarah,” I squeaked.

David laughed. “True! Sarah was my plus one a lot! But we can find someone for you if she is already taken. I think she is coming with Beckett.”

Of course she is. “That’s a long way away,” I said. “I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”

“I’m sure you will. The offer still stands,” David said. “Everyone in town wants to get to know you better, so I’ve got no shortage of people who’ve asked about you.”

My chest tightened and my inner hermit screamed silently. “Thanks for the invite. I will be there, and I’ll be at the shelter tomorrow.”

When would people stop trying to set me up? The only people I wanted to meet at that moment were animals. Cute fluffy sweet animals.

Besides, the wedding date sat two months away. I’d figure something out by then.

I said goodbye to David, trying to get away while not being rude. I’m not sure I succeeded. I climbed into my car, threw my purchases on the passenger seat, and roared the engine to life.

Tomorrow there would be dogs. Dogs and cats. Dogs and cats who wouldn't ask personal questions or try to set me up on dates.

Back at home, another text rolled in the moment I turned on the phone. Why did I need a phone? People existed for millions of years without them.

I know you don’t want to deal with this. But a lot of people are worried and hope you are okay. Don’t worry about Rory. But it might be a good time to do an update.

The texts were from Jeremy. He was legitimately worried about me, I knew. The last year had taught me the difference between real friends and fake friends. Jeremy was in the former category. He was also traveling through Europe recording his adventures for his channel. So while he could track what was going on online and periodically message me, he couldn’t come over and get in my face. There’s a lot to be said for a friend like that.

Jeremy was probably right. But that didn’t mean I was ready to do an update. Or that I ever would be.

I frowned and turned the phone off again. Isn’t every time a good time to do an update? If you ask some people, the answer is yes. It’s never enough either. Every week? Not enough. Every day? Not enough. Every hour? Not enough.

Finally, it was enough, and I ‘dropped my basket,’ as my grandmother would say. A night of too much drinking, and not enough thinking and I ended up in the hospital with a gap in my memory and worried family surrounding my bed.

Thankfully Sarah convinced them she would keep track of me, and talked me into moving to Amberly. She even found the house. It’s exactly what I needed. The cute sixties style ranch house on five acres, with a guest house, represented the perfect getaway from the stress of last year. She was right. It was good to get away, but it doesn’t help so much when the internet was everywhere.

Could I get away with never looking at my phone again?

Ever since the ugly public meltdown and breakup with my YouTube partner last year, I lost the will to log into social media.  It’s not a problem. It’s a solution. This world is too plugged in. Just ask Earl or those other guys playing checkers in the drugstore. They don’t need it. Why should I?

I moved to Amberly to unplug. Possibly forever.

I just wanted to live where no one knew who I was. I wanted to throw myself into the analog life. I could spend my days improving the property, remodeling the house, and reading books.

I piled my purchases on the kitchen table and sorted them out. I stopped on the calendar and looked closer at June and November. That these two firemen were the local celebrities was just fine. No one knew who I was, besides the new gay guy who bought he McFarland place. I wanted it to stay that way.

I scrubbed a hand over my face and turned the calendar over on my dining room table. Mr. Fireman Cover was distracting enough. I still needed to figure out where to hang it. I tried not to think about the fact that I could possibly run into this guy. Note to self, do not go to fire station.

Yep, I was all about my new life plan. I would do all the small town things — talk to the people, say hello to the old guys in the drug store, buy the fireman calendar.

Nothing in this plan included updating social media.

It’s weird when your life doesn’t belong to you. It belongs to your audience. There’s a push and pull. Is there a happy medium? Must there be? I didn’t even know what normal meant anymore.

I started the channel because I wanted to talk about dog training. And — because I didn’t have any friends in real life. Somehow the camera was easier to talk to.

It’s ironic. The person who didn’t know how to make friends ended up with over a million of them.

Eight years later, I’d gained a million friends and didn’t know what to do with them either. My throat ached, and breathing felt impossible. Thinking about all those people still freaked me out.

Maybe I just didn’t know how to have friends. Or be a person. I started this channel when I was seventeen, and now seven years later, I had fewer social skills than when I started.

Maybe that was unfair. But maybe not. YouTube was how I bought this house, and how I spent the last six months not working. But what was I supposed to do now?

The only thing I’m good at is the thing I’m hiding from.

It all would have been okay but pretty soon the dog stuff got shuffled into the background for other things — other content. And then there was Rory.

The viewers loved us together, maybe more than we loved being together. At some point we couldn’t tell the difference between what the viewers wanted and what we wanted, or what was real and what was not real.

Finally it was too much. I couldn’t do it anymore.

Now he’s moved on. Pretty quickly too, from what I hear. I guess I was just a replaceable pretty face.

Yet, it’s probably my fault. I’m the one in hiding.

But I’m the one who didn’t end up doing what I wanted to do. Rory always wanted to do click bait videos that promised more than they delivered, or do dumb stunts like “Watch Us Walk Around Downtown in Drag!” I was the nerdy idealist who wanted to do something more. Rory said entertaining people was the “more.” But what I always wanted to know was, why couldn’t the videos do both?

I paced around the house. All of this thinking made me anxious. I came here to not think about all this, not to circle around and ruminate about it. The reason you broke up with someone is so you don’t have to keep having the same arguments over and over. I didn’t need to keep having them in my head. Fuck Rory and his smug face.

Focus. Focus on something else.

I looked around my immaculate house. It was still decorated in what I lovingly called “Mid ‘80s Old Lady.”  But it was spotless due to my anxiety-driven sleepless nights. When you don’t turn on the internet, you suddenly have a lot of free time. I wasn’t going to start this project until I had all the plans laid out, and figured out how to do all the steps.

But demolition didn’t require plans.

My phone chimed in my pocket. Dammit, I thought I turned that off!  I reached in, turned it off without looking at the screen, and headed to the garage.

Life can’t be too bad if you get to use a sledgehammer.

The last time I got an “update” I managed my anxiety with my new favorite tool, that time on a dilapidated old chicken coop that needed to go. This would be even more satisfying.

I carried the heavy hammer back into the house, my heart pounding with anticipation. Even though it was my house, and this was supposed to happen (eventually), I felt like I was doing something bad. It was exhilarating.

I walked into the bathroom, straightening my back and rolling my head side to side. I was already stronger than I’d been when I arrived here. Manual labor was a better workout than talking to a camera. Who knew?

Light gleamed off the chrome and porcelain surfaces.  The hand-tiled shower boasted a checkerboard of hand-painted specialty tiles: light blue and pink flowers sprayed out and tied with a ribbon. Nana would have loved it.

I lifted the hammer to my side, like a baseball bat, my heart pounding, and took the first swing. The hammer hit the tile, and the crash echoed through the room.

Tile and grout chunks fell in a ringing tinkle onto the shower floor. Dust sprayed out like ash from a volcano and covered me in an instant haze of white. I looked down at my clothes. These were $300 jeans. They used to matter so much. It felt great to not give a fuck. I’d go get a dust mask in a minute. First, I wanted to take another swing.

If I’d known destroying buildings was this fun, I would have bought a house a long time ago.