23 october

Here’s what I’ll do: Tomorrow I will wake up and I will write a letter applying to a job and then I will send it. I will stop looking for more jobs before I apply to the ones I find. I am writing in complete sentences to represent seriousness. These are sentences that end in punctuation. Period. Capitalization is certain. By this time you are aware of the normal nature of these lines crushed by being so defined. I have been rushing over and past and through and I am preferring to look onward and over instead of applying. How many applications are floating out there? More. More than I have answers for. The status columns read ‘in progress’ and this is not entirely helpful. I am also ‘in progress’ but do not seem to be moving very far. Now I prefer the living room loveseat. Loveseat is the new dining room table. Afternoon is the new morning. Midnight is the new day. There are sweeping reforms that could revamp all of this, but the impetus is lacking. I’m joking. Of course I’ve got it. I just keep it in my pockets. I don’t know when I might need to pull it out and really use it, you know. But really. I’m waiting. I have all of this to say, to go on and on. What am I waiting for? I’m looking at jobs, sifting through the tangled pile of possibilities. It’s clear I have qualifications, though what they add up to seems insufficient to fund any sort of future investment, and barely any regression—not that I’m turning back, no, of course not. I’m waiting for something. For someone? For someone, for you, to come along and straighten out a few questions, line up the comforter with one swift tug and smooth over the rough edges of details, answering all of the wonders and the whynots that I’ve muddled through with a wooden tongue on the broken phone—too easy to know it’s a mirror I’m peering into, that I’m the one I’m waiting for. In the end, glad to know there’s someone there after all.