Company.

The city still kills me. I think that’s what counts. I think that’s how you know.

So.

I’m not trying to lose weight anymore. I haven’t been all year. (I look the same, which is unmotivating in itself.) That’s what’s different about lately, I guess. That, and everything else.

I am waiting to hear feet come up the stairs. Do you know how long it’s been since I was alone in a room? And how much I need it and hate it? He’ll be back soon, with the yellow gloves I asked him to pick up because I’m afraid to touch the dishes.

You wouldn’t know it, but I’m completely inspired these days.

I keep trying to make myself drink on nights when I have nothing to do the next day. You know, to make up for the past 4 years of constant work. But it never happens and I don’t know why.

This year has the potential to be unremarkable unless I do something great. Like write what I’ve always wanted to write, or land a gateway job. There is no one around anymore to blame for all the pressure that’s on me. Yes, getting things started is tricky.

Ah, footsteps.