Spring feels fresh and new, but I feel like a dirty bulb buried in the ground, pushing out of a hole in the dirt, going through the motions of engaging in life again because the weather’s looking warm, not that there’s any reason to come out or hope. I’d like to think life’s starting again (job interviews are hope of future cash flow), but I’m still off balance, torn between despair and elation.
My clothes say despair: I’m wearing socks with sandals (something I thought I would never do, like miss a rent payment due to lack of income); my winter coat (that I’m forced to wear with three sweaters because it’s more a suggestion of the idea of warmth) has lengthening tear down the side; everything feels too tight, even my shoes, except for my underwear which is too loose. I just want to throw away everything I own and slough off the layers of skin until I’m free of all these encumbering layers.
It’s weird to need to wear so many layers when the sun’s this bright. Spring is here, isn’t it? I’m going to have a job soon, aren’t I?
I turn my face toward the sun, smile at job interviews, and remember that I haven’t lost hope this winter, that I can do it, whatever “it” is, and that I have friends who want the best for me.
My bike’s repair is elation: we’re sanding off all the rust. It will be painted with bright green spray paint. I’ll be able to get myself from one place to another without spending money or waiting for the North Avenue bus. Hurray! And I won’t have to deal with these people.