I should go home, I dimly think. But what’s home? A messy, disheveled, depressing flat. What’s my life? A messy, disheveled, depressing nothing. I can’t do life. The stark truth lands in my brain with a thud. I can’t do life anymore. If I just acknowledged this one fact, everything would be easier. Life is too hard. I want to give up…what, exactly? Working? Being? No, not being. I like being alive. I think. I just can’t be alive like this.
