I’ve been thinking how there must be some kind of paralyzing aspect of this town or maybe it’s just an excuse for my behavior which is really my lack of fighting for exactly what I want or deserve and it’s so awful to come home and smile at your cat and smell the smell of a hundred year old home a smell so distinct in this town because it’s so rare and it feels so good in this space the light streaming in through the windows of my little square home with the wood floors and the cat and the couch my great grandparents never let any of us sit on when they were alive because it was the good one for guests and cream colored and now it sits here with me in my underwear and the the cat crawls under the blanket to pretend she’s hunting my hand and it’s still cream colored but this slight aging yellow maybe a pale dandelion really are these things holding me back and suffocating my desire to live because I miss myself so much I miss who I was with you despite being a mess I miss the person who felt so much but that person cannot come back because she’s changed and grew up and reality of monthly rent checks and gas bills and sitting at your desk only fifteen minutes in the day rubbing your face and saying, I’m just so tired of this job meaning I’m tired of giving my ambition to fix other peoples’ half assed job just get me a broom and let me tell you the quickest evacuation route when the fire drill happens this week it’s through the plate glass windows of the conference room to my left straight down below to the sidewalks and bunnies and gophers below in the desert we invaded but I’m thinking maybe instead I’ll take my car keys and drive straight to the airport to evacuate this life across a transatlantic flight.
