jours brumeux

The air was dripping with an unsettling haze that blanketed the blocks and street corners in my path, not aiding to the condition I was in. Three dimensional images transformed instantly into two dimensional figures in the map in the back of my head, tracing diligently the steps I must take to a home bound journey. A leaf brushed my check as it began its descend to the uneven pavement under my feet. I had a good night. I had a good day. If a good day means not meeting up with good friend and getting fucked over by some of your other friends, then I would say this day was splendid. B-E-A-UTIL even. My day was fucking golden and I changed my condition not to think about. I'm writing not to think about it. But, I'm a content. I can't lie about that. I've got the next fucking day to worry about. No time contemplating the strength of some of my relationships. No time deciding on why I fucking should never be my a phone when you are fucked up. No time figuring out why I feel so lost in my life right now, but I am content. I will not worry about it. I got it all out, right? No? Okay, maybe I didn't. It was worth a try and it's steps in the right direction, so maybe I feel crappy right now. I'll get over. Everyone does and maybe people will fucking notice that I'm trying to be above that. Above this particular boundary I was setting for myself. That is letting every goddamn thing get to me. Little things still irk me, but I'm not going to let it get the best of me. The grass was moist as I stumbled to the ground. Fresh is the word I thought of as my face meet the vegetation. Just one last hooray and you are in your house, Winslow. Five more minutes, I said, to the writer's voice in my head.