the apartment

i don't know what i'm doing.
i don't know where i am.
i desperately want to go 'home', but where is that? what is that?

i don't have one.
and i've exhausted every tactic i know to simulate feeling i am that no matter where i am.

the passing of time exists in two categories: eating or the space between

i'm so tired of experiencing everything publicly. yes, i'm aware of the irony.

i go to my car to land. it is the destination.
phew, i made it back to safety.
duck for cover, incoming...

i talk to myself out loud in public pretty openly now - without earphones. commentary to prove i do, in fact, exist outside of my own mind.

i haven't cooked a meal in months.

i'm out of toiletries and vitamins because i only packed for 32 days.
everything else is in a storage unit. two, in fact. one mine, one not.

i've only found 2 places i could live, would want to live. one was priced way above my means, the other i've applied for, but so have something like 10 other people and i'm what looked like 4th or 5th in line.

it feels like my entire future rests on getting this apartment.

what if i don't?