I should have done this years ago. Damn it. I should have just gone ahead and done it then and back there. It gets to the point when sitting in the middle of your number bed in the dark of three in the morning on your birthday there is nothing left but, fuck it.
And not in the juvenile dismissive 11:45 fifteen minutes left to get home at midnight curfew with a 30 minute drive ahead, not that one. It’s not the one at three, baking under a hot July sun alongside friends on the edge of a river deciding if skinny dipping is a ritual or some dumb damn thing Debbie just suggested.
It’s not the one at ten in the unemployed morning when a recruiter shows up to talk to your sister about going to a college for imaging and radiology and looks you in the eye and says, “You look like a court reporter. Anybody tell you that?”
It’s not the eight AM not awake yet but now quickly seat swapping in a Mazda RX7 with manual transmission illegally parked in front of a very busy court house and your then worse choice ever boyfriend says, “You know how to drive a stick, right?”
It isn’t even the three in the afternoon day drinking idea of flying off to Cancun, Mexico in four and half hours instead of finishing a week’s worth of classes to really look like a court reporter.
