Stay another month, he said, maybe stay much longer. He closed the door with visions of spring time drinks and pleasant conversation, the apartment felt more like mine than any one has in ages.
I spent the afternoon, camera in tow, being reminded why I loved that and why I let myself be an unemployed bum. Yesterday those children laughed when I came in, they made my heart leap. Tomorrow I go to my Real Job, entertain the feeling of being a proper adult with my shit together.
The problem isn't not knowing what to do, it's wanting to do too much.
That doesn't seem like a problem, at all.
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