There is this
There are cloves of garlic, peeled, on the cutting board next to an onion and a cabbage. Ready to be transformed. They have waited all day as I smoke outside and sip whiskey from the bottle on the window ledge in the kitchen. I am working from home. I put them back.
It’s time to stop now, says the small, sensible part of my brain. The only part that cares about me.
I can’t, says the oversized brute who thinks only of itself.
I like this, it says. This feels good for now.
Drunks and drug addicts don’t get enough credit, you know. Do you want to know what it feels like to live in the moment? Every moment.
What I need right now is this. Not for tomorrow and not for yesterday.
It is what my brain needs to stop existing in the past and in the future and to be here, with me.
It is the only way to stop seeing black holes.