saying yes
i do, perhaps, more thinking about writing than any writing itself. here and there i come across a note or stanza i quickly typed or scribbled out in one of a hundred places i have on hand to do so—but nothing complete. nothing long enough to sit in.
right now i'm at work; i find myself here often lately and am greatly surprised that i haven't burnt out completely on this job, considering how arduous the work itself is and how little payoff comes from it; i've found a routine and friends here, both birthing experiences that are irreplaceable. the opportunity to pursue my education free of charge (by now the only thing that had been holding me back, my medications sorted) is a priceless bonus too. in these ways i'm grateful and will continue at my best, pushing my limit to attain the future i envision.
more specifically i'm at work under a desk, in the dark, listening to the incessant half-broken clattering of pallet jacks wheeling past and back again. power's out, since after i left yesterday. thank god. i already walked in four minutes after open but it didn't matter since i can't clock in anyway; everything's down. the cold shelves are barren and i hear that if this go on much longer there'll be nothing in the freezer either. gone, just like that, and made nothing.
it's been harder being on my own since the breakup but in different ways than i expected. i guess the change in routine is getting to me. slacking on schoolwork, sleep deprivation... stuff like that. i ought to have more discipline—there's no one to perform for and only myself to better. i find that transitional periods are easiest for me to embrace the new, so i've been trying hard not to outright refuse experiences in my life right now. so far i've forgotten my bag at the stop and said yes to my auntie neighbor when she offered to drive and get it, worn a completely bullshit fit to the club and gotten spin-thrusted on by a beautiful entertainer, and gone line dancing to embarrass myself in front of strangers.
somehow, no one had the genius to come into the quiet room and go back to bed except me. maybe they've found things to do. i could care less. i'll do it my way.
something i'm struggling to find compassion in myself for is inconsistency. i want me and everyone else to know with certainty what they stand for and always act accordingly; it's unrealistic, nigh-impossible, and surely far from fair. what is this demand called? i'm just strict, then? something new.
i paid for my bus ticket even though it was free. is that a stand or a step? what dance is this meant to be, if everything means something? what magic has no sympathy? its a full moon tonight and we'll be blinking at each other once more — “ah, it's you, again tonight,” — unsure as every meeting as to what to say — “and you, how charming,” — because we'll never confess what we truly mean, for this crown shyness between heaven and earth — “i missed you too.”
something about the bus... right.