When I look at where I am, how I got here, and why, I am instantaneously humbled. On the way to the hospital, I scrounged for dimes and pennies to buy this pint while simultaneously praying to make it there. The gas in my tank is next to nonexistent. When I arrived, I found this disheveled magazine in the parking garage outside. I wiped the smudge off the front with my ragged old hoodie. It was the new edition. How thrilling.
That was before I made my way in here.... alone. I knew this would take a while.
I don't feel sorry for myself. I don't even cry. Instead, I realize how much of a bitch I was in my previous life for not recognizing the helplessness of someone who could identify a need and have no means to take care of it. A modern view of hell in terms of a love story. This is just another form of my penance.
I could not understand why he never had health insurance or full coverage on his ratty old truck. Why wouldn't he drive an hour to visit me? I complained constantly about being kept inside, hidden from the outside world. No dinner. No dates. Why wouldn't he take me anywhere?
Now, the only traces of my extravagant old life are found in the closet and behind the steering wheel. We are teammates fighting poverty and recovering addicts with different vices. We have become slaves to the corporate world... somehow united again in the midst of this hatred and division. My pride is melting like the ice cream in my left hand. I hope karma forgives me now. I don't want to learn these lessons again.
I'm sorry, Alex.
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