Square One

Four days without a shower, mere moments outside the apartment, the air turns stale and I open my window wide. November disappeared on the horizon; it is much too warm, a summer rain coating the yellowed leaves. Another deadline arrives, I wrap it up and step into the bath.

But old ghosts catch up and haunt me. A simple comment from an unexpected corner makes me doubt words written and paid for months ago. The pride, the slowly building resume, all tumble into a pile on the floor, next to the mess my deadline habits created. How can I offer my services, promise to deliver this magic, when I clearly cannot in full deliver?

Learn from mistakes, voices whisper. It is what life is. You work your way upwards. I hate those voices, there is no room for running around at the bottom of the ladder. They expect the skies for their babies, and they are right to. This is the life I am signing myself up for, every day a question mark.

I could have a steady job, I could have safety nets and the knowledge that rent would be paid for months on end. I chose otherwise. Brace yourself. This is life.

I rub my skin against the city, pray to make it thicker. Hopes are pinned on you, expectations soar. Fuck it. Jump.