Wagon

My mother takes a look at my life, and speaks, "this is what you get when you attach your wagon to undependable individuals." I attempt to picture my life as a wagon, something only to be hitched, rendered still in a loved one's absence. She tells me to go outside, breathe some air, see some sunlight, she tries to recall names of people that I know so that she can also recommend seeing a human face. I am laying by the lake, curled up cuddling my also laying bike. I do not tell her this, for both the fear of giving her any satisfaction (that she had birthed anything worth living), and because I felt reprimandation more appropriate than any level of praise. I tell myself "one year" every day, very many times a day. I stare at my street-chair and conclude that I like it better than my dumpster-chair because it's higher off of the ground. It reminds me of the ground floor apartment that I almost got at this complex, I suppose the lower you are the more lowly you are, the closer to being in the ground, death must be so humiliating.
Things to do: Go to an "alternative art school" and become lauded and famed for being outlandish, go to high school, lose your best friend who moves to los angeles, and become slightly depressed, fall in love for a short while with a blonde misanthrope, who is equally smarter, and emotionally worse off than you (he kisses your cheek, he leaves), go to college, lose your best friend who tells you not to misinterpret her dream of kicking you out of her house, then ceases to speak with you ever again, become extremely, irrevocably depressed, fall in love for an even shorter while with a somewhat-blonde misanthrope who is exponentially smarter, and terribly worse off emotionally than you are (he kisses the sides of your mouth, he kisses your cheek then leaves), drop out of college, tell nobody except yourself your feelings regarding this, and promise to go back "eventually" "when it is right", move to oakland, work at a print shop, lose your best friend, who tells you that he will never make such a fucked up mistake as losing you again, lose your other best friend, he tells you nothing and moves nearly everything out of your shared apartment, become depressed in a more, and more scary, not-cool sort of way, lose your other best friend, you break it off this time to prevent things from getting any worse, you tell no one your feelings on all of this, and promise to go back to them "eventually" "when it is right", you get a weird amount of money from your boss (relatively), who you then feel like a constant disappointment towards and altogether unworthy, you watch fifty movies and only leave bed to stop by work for six hours five days a week.
Upon completing my to do list, I am writing this.
I now regret neglecting to mention: real boyfriend for a real whole year, other not-worth-mentioning moves, teaching myself to ride a bike, sustaining a shockingly healthy relationship with one best friend, bonding with my brother over hopelessness and irreversible life decisions, going on two internet dates with a person who dreams of some day taking part in a white girlfriend asian boyfriend relationship, moving into an apartment I actually pay for myself, and staring at a brick wall for a window, as everything crumbles around it, save from the obstructing wall itself.
Now: I pay attention to when my stomach does not hurt, rather than when it does, I notice when I need to be with people, versus when I need to be alone, I look to the future, and do not so much as delve momentarily into the past, I wonder on a second to second basis if I will recover from this, I live in fear that every exchange will lead to my looming demise.

  "APPRECIATE ME FOR EVERYTHING GOOD I HAVE DONE IN THE PAST"