something that really made sense today:
"'Give me a smile, sunshine,' he says as I swipe my card through the reader. 'It can't be that bad.'
"I roll my eyes. 'Good morning,' I say, with the inflection of a world-weary twelve-year-old. He laughs.
"Everyone's talking to themselves on the bus this morning and all I want to do is sleep. At least they aren't talking to me. I curl up against the back window, spring jacket pulled tight around my shoulders, hood over my head. I'm sick again.
"For the first time in a long while, I don't feel like going to work. But I don't feel like staying home either, a place that's feeling less like home and more like a place I'm tired of sleeping.
"I know I'm not depressed because I can still imagine a place I'd like to be. I can see it in my mind's eye: a deserted island, off the map and off the grid, somewhere in the furthest flung corner of the South Pacific. I can see myself cracking coconuts on a rock, wearing a sarong made from palm fronds. Maybe I could bring Sudafed.
"Mostly I just want sunshine. And the space to be alone instead of lonely.
"I haven't exactly cornered the market on hard times. We're all scrounging and sick and over it-- bulls and bears and puppy dog tails, the world's crumbling faster than a handmade pie crust, and still I find time to feel sorry for myself.
"It's not the three months I'm behind on rent. It's not the sickness that never fully leaves me. It's not the way the house around my ears is busting apart at the floorboards, mouse-eaten and bulb-burned and too cold for an almost-spring day. It's not the way I'm losing or have lost nearly every person I could ever care to love.
"It's the way the way the sun never shines full-bright. It's the way that every little moment is a chore. It's the way my wheels spin and spin and never go anywhere I really want to be.
"And then, I don't know. I'm sitting on the bus on a day as dreary as an eighth grade poem, hail and snails and puppy dog tails, snow and rain mixing to sleet, gum stuck to the seat beside me, and I'm looking through a smudged window at a street that needs cleaning and I think, This is beautiful.
"Just this moment.
"This is enough.
"And maybe it is".
"'Give me a smile, sunshine,' he says as I swipe my card through the reader. 'It can't be that bad.'
"I roll my eyes. 'Good morning,' I say, with the inflection of a world-weary twelve-year-old. He laughs.
"Everyone's talking to themselves on the bus this morning and all I want to do is sleep. At least they aren't talking to me. I curl up against the back window, spring jacket pulled tight around my shoulders, hood over my head. I'm sick again.
"For the first time in a long while, I don't feel like going to work. But I don't feel like staying home either, a place that's feeling less like home and more like a place I'm tired of sleeping.
"I know I'm not depressed because I can still imagine a place I'd like to be. I can see it in my mind's eye: a deserted island, off the map and off the grid, somewhere in the furthest flung corner of the South Pacific. I can see myself cracking coconuts on a rock, wearing a sarong made from palm fronds. Maybe I could bring Sudafed.
"Mostly I just want sunshine. And the space to be alone instead of lonely.
"I haven't exactly cornered the market on hard times. We're all scrounging and sick and over it-- bulls and bears and puppy dog tails, the world's crumbling faster than a handmade pie crust, and still I find time to feel sorry for myself.
"It's not the three months I'm behind on rent. It's not the sickness that never fully leaves me. It's not the way the house around my ears is busting apart at the floorboards, mouse-eaten and bulb-burned and too cold for an almost-spring day. It's not the way I'm losing or have lost nearly every person I could ever care to love.
"It's the way the way the sun never shines full-bright. It's the way that every little moment is a chore. It's the way my wheels spin and spin and never go anywhere I really want to be.
"And then, I don't know. I'm sitting on the bus on a day as dreary as an eighth grade poem, hail and snails and puppy dog tails, snow and rain mixing to sleet, gum stuck to the seat beside me, and I'm looking through a smudged window at a street that needs cleaning and I think, This is beautiful.
"Just this moment.
"This is enough.
"And maybe it is".
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