Let's fire the old girl back up.
The soles of my feet are black with filth. Amazing how, right after sweeping and mopping the whole apartment, dust and dirt still cling to my size 11 feet. I shuffle over to the television and say "good morning" to the local news casters. They accompany the dawn. They make me laugh at witty banter, then make me sad about yet another fatal shooting in the heights, last night while I dreamt of Cayleigh and Cami.
I need to mop this place.
Linoleum covers the entire apartment, making it cold and uninviting. Previous tenants cared nothing for the nice old mexican woman in the downstairs unit who charged little rent and asked even less questions. Half painted rooms and broken pipes are left. Water heaters need replacing. Tiles are broken, wood is rotted. I'm home.
Dig for clean clothes. Dig for toiletries. Dig for answers I'll never find.
Make a list of things that need to be done. Sometime between work and school and more work and trying to be the man I'm meant to be, I need to do any/all of the following.
Unpack (never!)
Clean (fuck that)
Buy paint (no, wait, I actually want to do that)
Quit drinking (Tomorrow!)
Grow up (...)
Move on (TBD)
There is no gas running in this place. Instead of a long, warm, soothing shower there is a short, angry, yelling fiasco of soap, shampoo, and obscenities. Laughing at oneself isn't as easy as it seems when hypothermia sets in.
There is a chill in the air this morning. The sounds of 31 carry across the overgrown backyard. The masses flock to the city to begin their days as real estate agents, gas station attendants, drug dealers, and taxi drivers. I think of this and notice the string of Christmas lights that's still up on the front of the neighboring building. It's June.
They told me to work hard and study. They made it seem like life consisted of tests and interviews. Others told me it consisted of freedom and privacy. Some looked forward to parties and fucking. People who knew what they were talking about told us that life consisted of these things, and maybe there would even be marriages and divorces. Break up and make ups. Life and death. I always knew better though. There is one thing they don't prepare you for.
All the time in between.
I need to mop this place.
Linoleum covers the entire apartment, making it cold and uninviting. Previous tenants cared nothing for the nice old mexican woman in the downstairs unit who charged little rent and asked even less questions. Half painted rooms and broken pipes are left. Water heaters need replacing. Tiles are broken, wood is rotted. I'm home.
Dig for clean clothes. Dig for toiletries. Dig for answers I'll never find.
Make a list of things that need to be done. Sometime between work and school and more work and trying to be the man I'm meant to be, I need to do any/all of the following.
Unpack (never!)
Clean (fuck that)
Buy paint (no, wait, I actually want to do that)
Quit drinking (Tomorrow!)
Grow up (...)
Move on (TBD)
There is no gas running in this place. Instead of a long, warm, soothing shower there is a short, angry, yelling fiasco of soap, shampoo, and obscenities. Laughing at oneself isn't as easy as it seems when hypothermia sets in.
There is a chill in the air this morning. The sounds of 31 carry across the overgrown backyard. The masses flock to the city to begin their days as real estate agents, gas station attendants, drug dealers, and taxi drivers. I think of this and notice the string of Christmas lights that's still up on the front of the neighboring building. It's June.
They told me to work hard and study. They made it seem like life consisted of tests and interviews. Others told me it consisted of freedom and privacy. Some looked forward to parties and fucking. People who knew what they were talking about told us that life consisted of these things, and maybe there would even be marriages and divorces. Break up and make ups. Life and death. I always knew better though. There is one thing they don't prepare you for.
All the time in between.