thefutureandthepast

No dreams. A black and empty sleep, and when I woke, a warm and rainy morning. A dry and painful chest, that yielded stiffly with my breath. I’m not going to San Francisco, I have a job interview this morning. That is what I’m doing instead. I’ve rented a room at a friend’s house, way out east past the farthest east I ever go. Life is good. Life is fine. I’m going to pack all my things up today, here in this lived-in friend’s room, where invisible mold hangs in the air. It’s so much easier, I think, to fight something you can actually see. But when does that happen? Hardly ever.