Looped

I ate too much queso from the jar, contemplating my life lately. Came to no conclusions other than an empty sort of drone sensation. It’s been a month since I lost a friend and I’m trying to run around all the scenarios, wondering how one gets over such a thing. I thought I saw her today in the super market and panicked by the strange fruits people try when they are feeling adventurous – the strange curly brown hairs for husks, spiky green nippled skin. I wonder what it will be like if I actually see her again?
I used to think I was alone in my obsessions – and well, I am, but I used to think no one else obsessed as I did. I heard Hugo say it first and others later – that poets obsess, that we can’t ignore these repeat brain cycles. I feel lonely, but not as lonely knowing I have traits other poets have – it makes me feel as if I might belong there one day.
I mowed the lawn after my queso, felt oozy orange, but better about myself that I was working. One row after the other, a piece of grass stuck into my eyelash. I think I stepped in cat shit. Just when you think the spring can’t get any worse, I’m broke and out of gas, anxiety ridden at how much romaine lettuce costs.
I’m so sad and angry at things that have happened to me here. I should have known 5 years ago when my downstairs neighbors unleashed bedbugs and then doused the building in illegal chemicals that this place would test me and redrawn limits. Today, some asshole honked at me for turning into my own driveway. There are things I won’t change, but I’m tired of working so hard to maintain small shots of happiness. I want to be warm. I want my nights for the next few months to be dreamless – she always manages to pop in somehow and by morning I feel as if I’m restarting this horrible loop – track one – since the last time we spoke.

p.s. I have your damn crockpot

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