I stopped myself from voluntarily going to the office today. To make sure that everything was okay. To make sure other people did their job.
I slept a lot all weekend. I tend to escape, to run and hide into the sacred space of sleep.
Hiding from work, the news, life.
I’ve run before. Run away from home. And now I live here, wondering if I’ll make it out alive.
And now I live here, wondering if I’ll make it out alive. Wondering if fate will allow it.
I live here, in the heat and greenhouse feel of the rain sweeping down to the river and the subtropical air full of pollen and weight. I wonder if I should go somewhere cooler, warmer. I wonder how I will if I do, the costs mounting up in my all-too-logical-head, mentally converging to add estimates.
I think of the times when moving was dangling by a thread before… men who asked me to move for my own good, me recoiling at their lack of courage.
I think of the luxury some have, roaming from place to place, funded by wealthier backgrounds, until they determine where they really want to settle down.
I think of the yard work today, how the air felt like a sauna and left me breathless from potting plants and taming those outlandish rose vines.
They don’t bloom. They grow endlessly.
I think of the dream I had last night about snakes in my yard, the enormous- and real- black widow in the flower pot today. Biggest one I have seen.
I look for that magic job that doesn’t exist that will pay me enough so that I can justify leaving or save up to do so. I think about the mortgage, the cats, the yard. The fucking impossible yard. I see myself running against the wall.
I think about doing less. The feeling I do too much.
I remember that we were once migratory creatures, too.
I think of things to do. I don’t do them. Holding myself back. For what? For what? I ask myself again and again. What would it hurt to try…?
I look at a bill, mysteriously increased by 10 dollars… they changed my plan without telling me. Knowing it will require a 2-hour conversation to fix, a conversation that must be during business hours between 9 and 5 Monday through Friday when I am working. We value our customers, they say.
I hang here in limbo. Waiting for something crucial to happen. Something definite. Something absolute.
I hide my doubts. I feel my way through it. Stare at this diploma, sitting on my mantel. I think about becoming a teacher just so I can have summers off. I have no illusions about impressing wisdom upon young minds.
I think about becoming a teacher just so I can have summers off. I have no illusions about impressing wisdom upon young minds.
I think about how tired I still feel. 3 days of almost nothing but rest and I still feel exhausted. Beat up. Worn out. Physically drained from a desk job where I have allowed myself to become too reliable, too much of a fixture.
I visit job websites and company websites and look again.
I think of things I could do on the side and still don’t do them. I don’t know where I’d find the effort. I’m running out of effort to give. But I keep showing up and doing what is bid of me and more because I can’t stand the half-measures others throw out there and shrug.
I think about starting all over again. What would it do for my retirement? I’m not 22 anymore. Think about my vacation time that I take in droplets, unable to trust others to do the job?
Think about my vacation time that I take in droplets, unable to trust others to do the job.
I give up, buy a plant, a mascara, a nail polish, a t-shirt. A toy for the cats. Just to get out of the house and pretend involvement in the world around me. A play that I act out for five or ten bucks. I feel no pull toward the club, the bar, the other bar, the cool new restaurant. I go to places the old folks go, past their prime and coolness, refusing to wait in line for a table, forever for a beer.
I hate the patterns I see. The same kinds of people, different skin, hair. Like a movie trope repeated over and over. I wonder if any of them are any more complex.
I look at the news and fill with rage, despair, or just disappointment that things are going about as I expected.
I might comment on an article. I might not. I might get trolled by someone even more bored than I am. I might not. If I cared, it might matter what they said. The names, the implied superiority, and assumed yelling.
I read some article on organizing my house, avoiding these foods, bad signs you should look for in your job/relationship/friendships/family. Skim them as if they held meaning or advice for real humans here on Earth.
I wait on the fall. The crisp air of change. Hoping it will bring with it something new. Hoping for a shift. Hoping the shift will find me, when it happens.