Lately I finds two different currents running through my body, varying in ratio, intensity and velocity. Time speeds up, slows down. Temperature inconsistent with atmosphere. Positivity is suffocated by a hopelessness incongruous to my situation. Hopelessness is speared by a jolting idea from which my mind moves too quickly to complete.

I’m not happy where I am. I’m not comfortable but it’s not a productive discomfort. As I search for jobs without luck I question whether I even want a job. And then I immediately stop. Each day that progresses I want a job less and less; I just want to leave again.

Through the choice of the word leave I wonder if the true desire is to escape something, run away, protect myself from the lack of success here—or if leave is the simplest word in mind that signifies getting out of my current environment and into a new one. I seem to feel more at peace when I have no home, am just roaming, no idea what is next. There’s no need to wonder—it’s a combination of both. Wondering is a mask.

The cycle is depleting and I know it will follow me. I feel I’m running out of time, a ladder propped against a building, its feet in mud, bound to slide beneath itself and crash forcefully.