midsummer . daydreams

I am not dead. Although I wouldn’t mind being dead after everything that has happened. 

My phone was left smashed by the trucks that ran over it in the middle of a highway. My bike was stolen. And I ended up broke and uninspired. 

After trying (and failing) again to be part of the dead I decided that I should maybe try working for a change. Art doesn’t sell in this part of my planet, especially art that isn’t good. I needed a steady source of income so I abandoned my pen and paint and took up the service tray. I applied as a waiter for a restaurant. Pay was a bit indecent (4.76 USD a day), but it was better than nothing. Better than being fooled by so-called clients. In months of service work, think I lost a bit of myself, like a part of me died in all those hours I worked from sunup to near midnight to the point that when I tried picking up the pen again I found myself not able to draw again. It was scary. 

I’m not entirely sure if I could still draw. And that fact depresses me. 

“To some degree, I have grown accustomed to this new cycle of things. It has become a repetitive dance deplete of major revisions, a waltz, in some way, moving across the dance floor in a series of boxed steps. Eternally looping. 

It feels odd. Up until a few weeks ago I felt somehow detached from the rest of the planet, I was only an observer. And now I am not. It truly is odd and yet somehow I feel some form of pleasure in the knowledge that I am partaking in another aspect of the human experience. That I am seeing humans once more from another perspective.