Space

I'm listening to the early August noise of a Monday night,
Where the cicadas are singing with the crickets and tree frogs
 Courting lovers with songs they're too shy to say.
The neighbor kids are in the streets shrieking and playing, enjoying the last few days of freedom in the loudest way possible, like teenagers do. I am slowly decompressing, melting into my couch and a bottle of refermenting hard cider that is champagne fizzy.  This is the equivalent of my Friday night, just kinda hiding out and trying to find the right combination that will end my week long eye twitch. Is really starting to get to me.

I am inventing other realities where I branch off like the hardy boy books and imagine different paths and endings to my life.
Like chapter 12 would have been when I was 18, if  I should stay with my professor boyfriend and move to Taiwan, go to page 88 or if I switch schools and get into music and drinking, continue on page 54.
I imagine scanarios where I could be in the peace core in Africa or on a boat saving whales... My plans I hatched when I was twelve. Or I could be a writer in Nyc chasing down stories like my senior year of high school idea, I mean, when I wasn't acting in of broadway plays. Or a rock bassist or a bartender or a college dropout or a mortgage broker.


But as is, I'm in a quaint little apartment in Akron with three dogs, two of whom aren't mine, listening to te noise of the street while I try not to think about work or my future or my present too much. 


Ladies and gentlemen, we are floating in space.