Bruises and Band

I think it's just one of those days.
One of those days you just don't want to get out of bed in the morning, because you don't want to go to work. Then you do. And it's fine, but you nearly fall asleep in brief.
You get a few conversations in, no sign ups. More people ignore you than usual, or shake their heads at your profession because you're interrupting their lives. As little as you feel sorry for them, you secretly wish you could have the freedom to just meander, carefree, as they seem to. You know that's not true, but that's how it looks.
You think often about your poor posture, and all the things at which you want to become skilled. You think about how much money it would take for lessons. Your shoulders slump again.
You think about a guy you used to know with a certain posture problem.
Your shoulders slump further with the weight of the memory.
You get fired an hour later.

You come home, are whisked away to someone's house, and they're very sweet. An hour and a half later, you bike home. Improperly. Get corrected. Don't take it well.
Cry. Open windows, listen to rain. Light candles. Chill the fuck out.

I would say I'm back where I started, but I'm not. Probably about 600 dollars for the richer with a sunburn and some Bo Burnham tickets. I have ambition, now. Thirst, now. Drive, now.
But I'm idle after tomorrow.
Hah, who am I kidding?