things could so utterly alter
But what's it like.
More oxygen in the air, maybe. The scale and color of the vegetation's all off; a tree in Tucson in a bonsai tree, compared to these, which nestle up against a few stories confidently. Or maybe the difference in the air is humidity, which feels luxurious on a good day, oppressively soupy on a bad day. My experience of goodness and badness is rendered that much more obviously subjective.
Textures: brick; hardwood; masonry. A general sense of ornateness.
Race, money, power, they're different here. I wouldn't say worse, I would just say that, being an outsider, I find it more noticeable? Or maybe it's that I'm in a strange emotional space of not being busy enough to shrug it off or overlook it?
There are still giant spiders and giant cockroaches. There are still days when it's so hot that I want to drink a whole bathtub to rehydrate.
I have some things now that I didn't have before. I could play video games if I could concentrate. I have a better computer. I don't miss most of the things I used to have. I like having a fresh start, a lack of anchors. Things I miss: my glockenspiel, a few books, having my own space that was not a closet. My old yard, the fire pit, the bench swing. A few places, a few people, I guess, but what I miss are more sharp, discrete fragments of time, fractured beyond any hope of recovery. I can't go there and have what I missed. I can go there and see a few people, go to a few places, and maybe it will be a new thing, but everything that I loved is gone and everything that I was is gone, basically.
I have no mental model of how to be poor in a big city. I see people on the bus and have no idea how they stitch together their lives. I knew what it was like to be poor in Tucson. Some lived experience of my own, and some from knowing so many people who had it much worse. From living in methy neighborhoods and working service jobs. Here, I don't know anyone, and I can't imagine what I'd do if I didn't get paid soon, or if Amanda kicked me to the curb one day. I don't think that's going to happen, although I'm sure the fact that I'm up and typing and it's almost 5am, almost when she has to get up and go to her four-hour-commute job, won't exactly decrease my chances of that happening...
I see so many faces, every day. They all blur together. I sometimes feel like I meet the same five people over and over. We iterate. It's impossible to feel lonely when you feel so disconnected. I've tried going on a few dates and not knowing what I want or how I feel or particularly caring about anything how can I even finish this sentence.
I have a doctor's appointment in a little more than 24 hours. I keep getting told that I have insurance and I do not have insurance, so I numbly expect to pass through or not pass through that logical gate, who the fuck knows. The office is in Rockville, where I lived when I was five. Where my brother, who has now hiked from Mexico to Washington and isn't stopping until he reaches Canada, who told me a few months ago he no longer identifies as male, who used to be sad and creepy but is now pretty fucking cool, was born.
I'm terrified/hopeful/terrified/hopeful. The glass is half-exploding.
This is what it's like:
More oxygen in the air, maybe. The scale and color of the vegetation's all off; a tree in Tucson in a bonsai tree, compared to these, which nestle up against a few stories confidently. Or maybe the difference in the air is humidity, which feels luxurious on a good day, oppressively soupy on a bad day. My experience of goodness and badness is rendered that much more obviously subjective.
Textures: brick; hardwood; masonry. A general sense of ornateness.
Race, money, power, they're different here. I wouldn't say worse, I would just say that, being an outsider, I find it more noticeable? Or maybe it's that I'm in a strange emotional space of not being busy enough to shrug it off or overlook it?
There are still giant spiders and giant cockroaches. There are still days when it's so hot that I want to drink a whole bathtub to rehydrate.
I have some things now that I didn't have before. I could play video games if I could concentrate. I have a better computer. I don't miss most of the things I used to have. I like having a fresh start, a lack of anchors. Things I miss: my glockenspiel, a few books, having my own space that was not a closet. My old yard, the fire pit, the bench swing. A few places, a few people, I guess, but what I miss are more sharp, discrete fragments of time, fractured beyond any hope of recovery. I can't go there and have what I missed. I can go there and see a few people, go to a few places, and maybe it will be a new thing, but everything that I loved is gone and everything that I was is gone, basically.
I have no mental model of how to be poor in a big city. I see people on the bus and have no idea how they stitch together their lives. I knew what it was like to be poor in Tucson. Some lived experience of my own, and some from knowing so many people who had it much worse. From living in methy neighborhoods and working service jobs. Here, I don't know anyone, and I can't imagine what I'd do if I didn't get paid soon, or if Amanda kicked me to the curb one day. I don't think that's going to happen, although I'm sure the fact that I'm up and typing and it's almost 5am, almost when she has to get up and go to her four-hour-commute job, won't exactly decrease my chances of that happening...
I see so many faces, every day. They all blur together. I sometimes feel like I meet the same five people over and over. We iterate. It's impossible to feel lonely when you feel so disconnected. I've tried going on a few dates and not knowing what I want or how I feel or particularly caring about anything how can I even finish this sentence.
I have a doctor's appointment in a little more than 24 hours. I keep getting told that I have insurance and I do not have insurance, so I numbly expect to pass through or not pass through that logical gate, who the fuck knows. The office is in Rockville, where I lived when I was five. Where my brother, who has now hiked from Mexico to Washington and isn't stopping until he reaches Canada, who told me a few months ago he no longer identifies as male, who used to be sad and creepy but is now pretty fucking cool, was born.
I'm terrified/hopeful/terrified/hopeful. The glass is half-exploding.
This is what it's like:
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