catching up
studies in showing your hand
disclaimer: i am as good as i’ve been in a long time
11.24.25
i catch a glimpse of myself on my way to the kitchen sink and discover i look like i’m running some sort of homestead rehab program for one. for six months i’ve kept this apartment clear of alcohol except for one small shot of tequila i keep in my fridge “for emergencies.” considering how things have gone i am not sure i can fathom a severe enough event to push me to that edge.
yesterday i told my friend that they needed to make sure they prayed to god when they’re grateful too. more a reminder to myself than anything.
earlier today i sat on the edge of the east river with a paper cup of shitty office coffee and frowned.
01.26.26
sometimes you just have to let yourself be who you really are i think as i take the beer out of the fridge sliding backwards or maybe falling all the way off the wagon i was making an honest attempt at staying on. i don’t really know what good all the metaphors can really do when shit is just fucked and you’re bored - my streak of being unmotivated is beginning to feel chronic and i wonder how many more times i can speak out of turn before the consequences really catch up to me because shame doesn’t seem to be enough to keep me in line anymore. dusk is beginning to fall and i love how the snow gives off light like the low hum of a tune in the back of my mind. i’ll keep shuffling on and drinking while i do it maybe my role is to really go hard and be the complete asshole none of my grandparents managed to be out of fear god would abandon them. He did anyway. He loves me more. He knows me better because i’ve come to understand how hideous he made me sometimes. my phone vibrates with another email. my to-do list is nearly all crossed off beside me.
02.01.26
i turn to x and say “i never told you that?!” and immediately wish i could snatch that never from out of the air and shove it back into my mouth because it gives away way too much. i’ve been worried about showing my hand lately. x responds “no” and it feels decidedly flat like we’ve only ever encountered each other here. a few days ago i heard someone tell x “patience is a virtue” and i felt x’s eyes roll in their sockets and scrape along my back. i tried to get my shoulders to relax. i repeat x’s name three times like i’m washing my mouth with soap. i can’t tell if i’m x’s moon or if x is mine either way we seem inevitably tethered in a way that i can’t make any use out of and i google if moons die and to do so have to bypass a klarna notification that reminds me of the lifespan of a basic transaction i chose to prolong because i’m broke. in theory every morning i’m on my way to x. unavoidably romantic if not a little doomed. i need to wash my hair now.
02.02.26
warren street, lower manhattan, approaching 7pm.
i’ve almost completed my three errand in a two block radius hit but i have to check my bank account, didn’t end up having time to in the whole foods checkout line. $22 and a few cents, not enough! never enough really. a guy runs up behind me telling someone on the phone about the material depreciation of money, he can’t read the fucking room at all. i transfer another chunk of change from my pretend savings so cvs will hand over my prescription to lower my testosterone so i have fewer pimples. the things we do.
02.07.26
i was at the ballet last night, two beers deep and honestly just trying my best to stay awake, when i realized i had forgotten to go to the bank and get quarters to do laundry this weekend. people with the strongest legs i’ve ever seen are spinning around, a critic is taking notes two rows up, and i’m thinking through the lack of cash and subsequently lack of coins i have to accomplish a basic chore. an hour later i’m on the third story of the building looking at pictures wondering why they didn’t make the railing higher if they were going to make a habit of giving out free drinks. i fantasize about throwing myself over into the crowd of horny young professionals below. i shake it off. it takes me 21 stops to get home. earlier that day i had attempted to make conversation with a famous photographer by asking him if he’d ever gotten to photograph sam shepard. i’m more in the way than i ever have been.
