This is the last place I want to be— couched in a spinning chair that twirls me round to see the grayed four corner cubicle that engulfs me. I want to be anywhere but here. Some place beyond the walls. Because there is where my mind precipitates self-doubts about my life, and I can’t seem to shut it out.
These days, I don’t feel like I’m living right, or maybe it’s the shock of coming into real life, where some don’t value you beyond your labor. So lately I’ve lacked a verve in my way, and it escapes me why that is or has to be. I don’t sing. I don’t write. I don’t dream. I don’t fight. What’s worse, I dwell on my shortcomings and how I’m struggling to keep my relationships alive. And it is hard.
It is hard not having friends around to make the hard less hard. It is hard to keep the close ones close. It is hard to keep the ones you care about abreast when you are only trying to make it through the day.
I am just thankful I got up today.
Late to work. Still in my seat. The overwhelming feeling of feeling incomplete. But I am thankful I made it up today.
Because there are days I’d rather lay forever—my body curled up on the small couch in my grandfather’s living room. At least there, the walls don’t exist. At least there, I am anywhere but here.