OMG Michael proposed to Carol and now I have to give him a ride home! Can you believe it? J

The words don’t make any sense. He can read them, of course. He’s not that drunk. Not yet. But when he reads them they don’t really communicate anything to him. He’s not sure why Pam is texting him—sure, they talked on the phone a little while ago, and it was amazing, but he can’t trust his instincts when it comes to things like this, not after being told he was misinterpreting their friendship—and so he’s not sure how to respond to that in the first place, and when you add to that the weirdness of the content (why does Pam have to give Michael a ride home? From where? Why was Pam there when Michael proposed to Carol, wherever there is?) he’s really just completely flummoxed.

OK, maybe he’s also that drunk. He’s not sure exactly when Pam sent the message, he’s not entirely sure what time it is now, and he thinks he might have passed out drunk while drinking whatever that horrid stuff Andy brought in was. How the hell was Karen not affected? That woman must have a liver of steel, kidneys of iron, and the overall constitution of a…a…something that has a really good constitution. A dwarf cleric or something. Don’t ask him, he’s drunk.

And if he’s drunk enough to not know what animal has a good constitution (a yak maybe?) and to then go back to his college Dungeons and Dragons phase for a metaphor, he’s probably too drunk for this text.

Why is Pam texting him? No, scratch that, why is Pam texting him this? He’s had fantasies about Pam texting him, of course, because he knows that talking is hard for her (even though he’d much rather hear her voice than read anything ever). First it was simple, sweet fantasies like just getting an “I miss you” or a “Hey, are you going to the mall, because I’m here and we should hang out.” Then it was very specific fantasies that he’s now drunk enough to admit he really craved, about pictures and words and all the things he’d really like to do with her if she weren’t with Roy/in Scranton/evidently not as interested in him as he’d always hoped (circle all that apply). Sexting with Pam would be…well, he actually has no idea. He doesn’t even really have a precedent for it, because the closest he’s come is the couple of times Katy booty-called him by text, and he really doesn’t want to imagine that Pam is anything like Katy. And he knows his reactions to her are magnitudes more significant than anything he ever had with Katy, so he just doesn’t think of that as even comparable, plus it wasn’t like actual sexting, just a casual “u up” followed by some…more direct, interpersonal action. So no, he has nothing to base his thoughts about Pam on except for his knowledge of her, and he’s deathly afraid now that he doesn’t know her nearly as well as he’d thought. Since Casino Night his fantasies about Pam texting him have become simpler: “I was wrong.” “I can.” “Come back.”

None of those have come true either.

Except now he has the reality of Pam texting him, and it’s much more confusing than any of his fantasies. Maybe this is because he’s still drunk (and how did he get home? He remembers the bike…and the bush…oh right, Karen. Thanks Karen! And why couldn’t it have been Pam? She’s giving Michael a ride home! Why not him? Oh. Right. Scranton is…how did she put it? It feels far. It’s not Stamford. He’s not…he’s never really home). But anyway. Being drunk. Sucks. Can’t really understand this text. Why is she telling him this? Why is she talking to him about proposals and Michael and car rides? Is it because Michael getting shot down (which he assumes he must have been if Pam is giving him a ride home) reminds her of Jim getting shot down? Because she thinks it’s funny to tell him that he’s just like Michael, that telling people how you feel about them is always a bad idea and leads to heartbreak? At least Michael has friends (good friends, Pam friends) to help him home. Jim had to drive back from Casino Night alone, friendless, hopeless.

And at least Michael got to date Carol. He thinks. Yeah, they definitely dated. He got further than Jim ever did. So did Kelly, now that she’s with Ryan. Only Jim gets to sit out in the cold. No one wants to date him. The woman he loves and doesn’t love him thinks it’s funny to tell him about other people getting their hopes dashed. And he’s in a one-bedroom apartment in Stamford, Connecticut, drunk off his ass, without any of the benefits of drinking. No camaraderie. No loosening of inhibitions or stolen kisses at the Dundies. Nothing but paperwork at Dunder Mifflin and bare walls in an apartment that might as well be a hotel room.

Damn it, tomorrow he’s going to have to pick up his bike. Which means he’ll have to drive in and then figure out where it was that he went off the side of the road, because he’s not sure exactly where that was but it wasn’t where he usually keeps his bike. Assuming it’s even still there in the morning.

God, this is messed up. He’ll deal with the text message later. If ever.

He rolls over and goes back to sleep.