A Corner

... of sorts.

It's mid July. I'm 24. I've lost Steve. I haven't seen my son William yet even though his mother has been deemed unfit after another anorexic meltdown. I just got fired from my job for no reason; I am still too proud.

I want to be a writer, still. This is the first thing I've written since Steve died. I'm trying to stop grinding my teeth. Apparently teeth-grinding is a symptom of the recession. I've always wanted a difficult life. I've always wanted to need to strive to climb out of each morning.

I want to be in love, again. I want to have somebody really care that things should turn out as beautifully as possible. Simple things like listening to the sound of cars or trying to agree upon something that makes you cry. These are things that you don't need to plan ahead for. They are things that you need to be constantly prepared for. I am rarely on point and, worse, have some unfinished philosophy about my ego that doesn't allow for an honest apology:

One the way home from going to a concert with Jessie I received 23 text messages from Janice, a voice-mail and then a phone call. We were at the Smith & 9th St. station. Janice was using a number I didn't recognize. I answered and felt immediately worthless and embarrassed. I felt I would weep about it later. There was no use staying in the moment; I lost focus of the subway station wall as Janice went on about something. Jessie sat down and flipped open her phone. I wanted out of the situation in the best way possible. An impossible task. I said goodbye to Janice and asked Jessie if she wanted to go to the Bronx on Saturday. What's in the Bronx? She wanted to know. I told her I'd never been there. I should have told her that we'd be there. Maybe there's an adventure , a Donnie Darko portal that is really just our future selves having fun. She said her ex-boyfriend was coming to see a free show they saw every year. The Siren Festival. It would be weird. I said Well fuck you and walked away. I gave the peace sign and smiled. I don't know how that came off.

The other day I drank a protein drink and shat myself walking home from the Smith & 9th Station. I felt adrenaline and loved the mind that could drag an incontinent cluster of organs up four flights and into the shower.

I should just shut up with all this nonsense but I won't shut up anymore. I shut up for four months now and it isn't working.