All Things Profane and Sacred

Time continues to be hard. My great-grandma tries to console me with talks on the Great Depression, but it doesn't make me feel much better. After all, we're not in the Great Depression. What's wrong with me that I can't friggen support myself?

I'm mostly trying to think about my friend A, who graduated into a saturated market in an expensive city and scraped by until he found a good job. I remember his calls and how scared he sounded. I remember sending him a care package to keep up his cheer. And I remember that he found a job, a good one, and got onto his feet. That's the prize my eyes are on these days-having something to pay these goddamn bills. Not living scared out here on the edge of the continent. Finding my safe place. Being shut of doing time.