I toss and turn and can’t sleep. The air conditioner runs too loud. The Spanish announcer on the television gives me headaches with each call, with every name pronunciation. My neighbors have popped fireworks every night since Tuesday though the holiday is on a weekend this year.

I poured a drink to let the thoughts marinate.

I’ve lived in Texas just under 6 years now. I moved here because I was tired of Nashville. It felt like a college town even when it tried hard not to be a college town. I considered Atlanta but the closest I could go would be Augusta. I worked for a phone company in a call center with a few locations across the country. Then one day I got a call that my mom was sick. I moved to Dallas to be close. I went to school in Oklahoma and have a cousin here so the move seemed legit. Mom’s healthy and moved on back to Chicago now, but I’m still here. I think that has a little to do with this feeling.

I guess I’m winning. How do you even know anymore? I’m doing better than 98% of the world financially or whatever and trying to work a life into the top 50% (read 50 percent tax bracket) before we apocalypse and all these numbers mean jack shit when we’re trading bear hides for blow jobs. No matter how hard I hustle there’s a part of me yelling it’s all for nothing, they’ll take it as soon as I make it. And of course I should know that’s not enough reason to sit it out but these days its the only unknown. What happens if I succeed? What if the challenge is self fulfilling and it’s I and I that dig the pitfalls? I find it easier to dwell in the anxiety and smoke a J than to focus head and heart and risk the failure of success and failed opportunities. So my lifestyle shows. Shit, what if I succeed in a something i don’t like. Dwelling above mediocrity is restlessness when you still feel full of great possibilities.

I think of a pretty girl then I think of all the others. My heart skips a beat. Rinse. Repeat. Scattered love is restlessness. Unchained hearts roam and come back nicked, scuffed, and trampled on, like a pair of new Jordan’s in a dark nightclub. You might enjoy the dance, but the next day, you are going to ask yourself if it was worth it, waste of money and all. Restlessness is buying $500 shoes that you don’t wear because you can’t take the pain. So no Kixpo for me. I don’t wear sweatshop no more.



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