Elsewhere, something was happening.

You read a long essay about Vonnegut and think about the planet moving through space. Watch a YouTube video of music of a band you like. Itch an elbow. Work on rainy Saturdays. Think about coffee or scotch and dry: reclining on rooftop bars.

Click click scroll. Scratch chin. Doodle.

Ideas fly. Thinking of Googling storage places outside the city. Dismantling furniture: bookcases and beds and desks. The long drive north. The long six weeks left. Taking the car to the mechanic. Plastic tubs of books. Washing the walls down with sugar soap water sponges. Using a ball of blu-tac to de-tac the places where there were photos and words that were supposed to be motivating, turned condescending.

Needing a sandwich.

Tight circles around a date on the calendar. Same date written on a post-it note. Time owed written over triple. Hours lost documented loosely. Column of double digit numbers. Thinking: if this is the sum of productive capacity, someone - not me - is getting a bargain never discussed. If the language had punctuation for irony, you could use it and quote "...refuse to work another weekend...". Count the unworked weekends on the hand of a fist with three fingers down and two up.

If living is waiting around for something to happen, I've been alive my whole life. If living is to go/do: the illuminated exit sign brings rebirth closer to reality every day. Every lost weekend still an exit sign closer. Walking, driving. Home late. Spending hours flipping through 200 pages looking for errors.

Inevitability is okay when it brings opportunity closer.

May your last day be your best day.