Post #1155768

I stand in the doorway between my bedroom and my bathroom, cold tile pressing up through my feet, like the floor is asking, are we doing this again? It is a coin toss morning. Go back to bed, or pretend I have somewhere to be. Either way, the day is waiting. Same apartment, same quiet, same walls that know my name but never say it back. I send messages. Hello, just checking in. Hello, just wondering. Hello, do you need someone like me? Send. And watch them drift like paper boats on a river that never returns. I look for work until the words blur together. Experience required. Drivers Licence REQUIRED. Someone already moving. I am here, refreshing a page, like it might refresh me. When I am not trying, I am still. Which sounds peaceful until stillness becomes a room with no door handles. Unless I leave. Unless there is an event, a stage, a room full of strangers pretending not to be alone. Then I borrow a version of myself, one that speaks, one that lands, one that lingers in other people after I am gone. But mornings like this, there is no audience. Just me, and the spaces between bed, kitchen, and office, and the question that keeps asking, how many times can you start a day you do not want, and still call it living?