Is this life for real?

Online dating is a line cast in the water. I messaged back and forth about a cat door. She showed some interest in my profile, and I read hers. She was thinking about installing a cat door. I explained about sawzalls and a wide margin of error.

Broadcasts. You can say what you want while online dating, and the message will go out to whoever is online and close. "I'm at 48th and Springfield. I swear I'm smart and nice enough. Please feed me."

Christ-bucket. Is this life for real? I barely made it anywhere today. I knitted for a few hours today while sitting in the life-is-easy chair. My van's doors were open to grass and a sidewalk. I slept for a few hours in my van, and I barely woke up.

I heard Bob Dylan's voice as I finally boiled water for pasta. It was late - but it would be many hours before the arrival of early. The kitchen where I'm staying has a lot of records, and I pressed play on the last-played vinyl. I sat in a chair. I suspended my head by the heels of my hands. I pressed my hands to the crooks of my eye sockets and waited until pasta was tender enough to eat. The heels of two tired hands stretched skin beneath my eyebrows as music crackled and made me stop twitching.

Christ love and give me a hug. I wake up to realize that I passed out listening to music which makes me cry. I can't make myself eat, and to me it's surprising how much happiness is a tenuous ideal rather than a colorful blanket which I can pull over myself at will.

But it really doesn't matter at all - another song reminds me that "Life's a Gas." I'm sincerely thankful for the reminder.

And who had their finger deeper in the other person's butt? As I wake up again, I'm only half assembled. I answer my phone at this late hour, and I smile genuinely. I sigh into the speaker as my vision remains blurred and my muscles are inconsolable.