This piece is read best when accompanied by the attached track.
What I might get done today if I’m lucky is wake up on my slightly too firm mattress, alone, and catch a glimpse of the trees speaking to each other outside of my bedroom window. I’ll dress slowly, considering how my jeans might pair with my blouse to create a combination most appropriate for work. I’ll pass a chipped and dusty mirror to pick the accessory that goes best with bags under my eyes and the distress on the lips. Studs. They’re perfect.
What I might get done today if I’m lucky is walk to my office and pass 100 souls whose eyes will glide past my own, forgiving themselves for not stopping to ask what’s wrong. I’ll listen to the same song on repeat, internalizing the reality preached into my ears that the only people who know the truth about humanity are the poets. The artists who’s messages come from their craft, who’s warnings come from their songs, who’s fear gets released in their movements. Only the poets.
What I might get done today if I’m lucky is coast through my week undirected, lost, and pulled by those who are carving my path for me. I’ll strengthen artificial connections made in the places I find myself frequenting most, look to those I spend my time with and hope that there is more to them than the content and satisfaction that they paint on their face.
What I might get done today if I’m lucky is be okay enough to make it to tomorrow. Make enough of an effort that I can society into thinking that I’ll be alright on my own.
What I might get done today is not want I want to get done tomorrow. I want us all to wake up. Wake up from this story we’re writing ourselves into that doesn’t give any of us enough time to develop our characters. A story whose endings are written in stone before their chapters are even started. A story where few get the ending they want, and fewer get the ending they deserve.
What I might get done today if I’m lucky is start a new chapter that begins and ends with authenticity, truth, purpose, connection, and care.
Life of a Disgruntled Twenty-Something 