September 3rd, 2009
Someone:
I am sitting in a pale little kitchen, figures flickering on my attention span like a slide projector:
$20
+$5
+$15
-$40
-$13
-gas money
= $-13-gas money a week
How is South America going to happen again? This cold, flat realization cripples me upon impact. I watch all the visions of life and death and happiness like stone melt into a massive puddle at my feet. I contemplate how to reshape this puddle but no tactic comes to mind. Instead, I opt for the least effective method, lying down in it and trying to soak it back into my skin before it leaves me permanently. I lie there in absolute stillness for several minutes with my lungs swelled, my teeth clenched, and my fingers trying to rupture my temples. Nothing miraculous happens to my puddle.
At last the panic recedes and I sit up, look around, and draw a simple conclusion:
It's time to grow up and get a job.
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