From hating life to hating being happy to wondering just what happened, in three movements.
The first thing I did this morning was knock my glass of water off my bedside table when I was reaching for it. You know exactly what kind of day you’re going to have. Every movement you make is just a couple milliseconds shy of exact. Everything you reach for is just an extra two centimetres away. You want to just go back to bed, like you think incubating for another hour will cure the day.
There’s also no food in the house. Looks like it’ll be Subway Sunday. Again.
I’m standing at the bus stop for work, feeling stuck in the Truman Show. In a shop doorway, a freezing homeless man turns over in his blanket while an 18-year-old Asian kid, bundled in a designer fur-lined winter coat, lights up a smoke as he returns to his Ferrari parked along the curb.
Thanks, just when I felt like I was doing better in life, I’m reminded of how far away I am from success. (and yes, on days like this, success is measured by money.) I also lost my nametag and got a rejection email from some people on trendy Commercial Drive who were looking for a roommate. This is crushing because I hung out with those hipsters for an hour and was sure I got it.
I feel like I was just denied parole. My neighborhood lacks any