My problems are small and daily. Or large and lifetime. Or that's the same thing.
Someone linked me to my own blog. Can you imagine? It's difficult to read my words now. I find myself alternately hilarious and piteous.
I'm sitting in a small town bar using the wifi. The locals inquire about the laptop as though it is a spaceship. I answer their questions as though it is a spaceship I happened upon and just decided to dink around with.
"God knows what this darn thing is... thought I'd just tinker it a bit for the mild amusement of tapping keys"
I also work here just often enough that it pays to blend in as much as I can.
This isn't working the way I'd hoped... the way I remembered. Nothing works anymore and I don't know how to get back. I followed something out to the edge and fell over the side and I'm not sure I even want to pull myself back up.
and none of it is very interesting. Just poverty and alone and barely getting by.
This is haunting as your words so often are...
ReplyDeleteMaybe it's not supposed to be interesting to you, for you it's tedious, or hard, or heartbreaking, or fanfuckingtastic, whatever the case may be.
ReplyDeleteThat doesn't mean we don't want to read what you have to say.
"poverty and alone and barely getting by" with morals pretty much trumps most of society
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