I am saying "fuck it" to the subway, I am making excuses, I am too ill to ride public transportation. I am taking cabs, too many cabs, I am telling them 22nd between 5th and 6th, YES, I said 22nd, no, not 27th. Two-two. Twenty second. Thank you.
I am watching the meter rise. I am riding up the elevator. I am sliding into work as quietly as possible. I am working, I am reading, I am getting a headache. I flirt with coffee. I don't drink coffee, but I am drinking coffee now.
I'm watching the hours unfold in reverse and I read human interest stories, over and over. I update. I check. I read. I work. I lay my head on my desk. I whine. I talk to my friends, the days move slowly, I am telling myself that this is the best I can do.
I leave work and I walk on ice patches. I dash into traffic without looking up, I am invincible, I cannot move and I am throwing up now, on the side of the street. I am looked at, approached, worried about.
I come home. I watch fake shows and I don't read enough. I don't write enough. I am worried, I am not, I am fine.
People call me and I don't answer. I write down words: asshole, inconsiderate, incorrigible, awful. I look at these words and I want to embrace them fully and become them, completely.
I am back four days and gone two. I am doing my best and failing, wildly, for everyone to see. I am sneezing into toilet paper and wishing this was fiction, wrapped in cotton, not real.
I hibernate. I put on Christmas music. I talk to strangers instead of friends.
I fall asleep. I breathe through my mouth. I hug the toilet. I think optimistically. I run out of space on the floor.
I resist this life. I embrace it.
I live it.
I live it.