Bookmark #345

I’m getting coffee with a friend after a grocery run. My phone buzzes. There’s an email. A document is attached to it—analysis. For all it brought along, the internet did get opportunity. Piece of cake, I think. How much? Two hundred. Two hundred? It would cover my rent. I’ll need it by Saturday, he tells me. Not a problem. I come home, and then it hits me—my art is being displayed on Saturday. Not that anyone cares about it. Not that anyone cares about anything, but when someone does, it makes all the difference. If I sell some prints, it would be a nice nudge into doing this—writing—every day. It’s what I wanted, after all.

Wait? I ask myself. Saturday. Saturday is when another episode for our podcast comes out. Everyone has a podcast. Not that anyone listens to it. But we have fun making it, my friend and I. It was all about fun, after all. It was fun and about three hours on a Friday afternoon to clean the audio up, publish it wherever we could, and hope someone would tune in on Saturday morning. No problem, I tell myself, I can stay up Friday night, write, and make it to the display in time.

Halfway into Friday, I’m exhausted; there’s always more than we remember to do. I take a break to sit in the sun and watch Mitch and Morrie talk about life. For a second, I lose myself in the daze of their wisdom: be patient, look around; I look at my watch. I scramble to my desk. I remember I did not get eggs. I’ll get them in the evening. It’s already evening. I’m losing my mind. Come night, I’ve met people and got my eggs. I can start working. Six or seven hours now, and I make rent easy for this month. The smallest gig after this is extra credit, I tell myself.

The night goes by in a montage. For a second, I remember how much I enjoy playing with numbers. The birds coo and chirp outside. I look out at the world—what a bright blue. I stand outside sipping coffee, my fifth for the night, staring at the neighbourhood. It’s worth it—this view. I come back inside. All I have to do is write and leave for the display.

This is the life I wanted, I tell myself. I lie down for a bit. I doze off.

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