no one prepares you for the middle of things, the long stretch of just paying rent and the strange feeling you didn’t get all of the instructions.
you’ll end up in an apartment that’s aggressively okay, where beetles crawl out of the wall like they were there first and you’re just visiting.
you’ll notice that the carpet smells faintly like someone repeatedly microwaved fish and decided that’s right for the rest of history.
you’ll think about that longer than necessary.
mostly you’ll be checking your pockets for your wallet.
left pocket.
right pocket.
jacket pocket.
sometimes you’ll wonder if you should see a doctor.
now?
maybe now?
eventually the feeling goes away or it kills you.
hair stops growing or starts growing in places that feel like clerical errors.
you think about planting a garden, but not here.
down here a dog lifts its leg, and a neighbor waves like none of it is happening.
even a little while turns out to be a lot compared to nothing.
you get a taste of success once.
after that you start wondering how to steal more of it.
failure sticks around longer.
failure sits beside you like a drunk friend who won’t leave after a party.
one night you’ll call up success, “what are you doing tomorrow?”
failure will answer the call, you’ll think it’s a conspiracy, for a while.
sooner or later somebody asks something from you
or you ask something from them.
now you’ve got trust.
which is just a slower way of making enemies.
people will say, “live in the present.”
good luck with that.
good luck with taxes.
taxes live in the past.
good luck writing the heartbreaking masterpiece that proves you were here.
and good luck finding that book you swear you just saw.
if the universe is working right- it will fall off the shelf in about fifteen seconds.
or not.
i’m sure there’s some way to correct the universe.
i can’t help you with that.
but i can tell you which place in the city has the best Thai food.