◉ 045 | Back to Reality

I had a job.

Ten minutes

down the road.

I drove

like a maniac.

I was so nervous

it felt chemical.

Like my nervous system

was high on something.

Parked the car

on the main road.

Opened the boot.

Dropping shit.

Two young guys

stopped at the lights.

The driver

put his window down:

“Are you on gear bro?”

The comment shook me.

But also calmed me down.

He wasn’t wrong.

I felt like

I was on drugs.

Yet

I’ve never touched

drugs in my life.

There was no reason

to carry that madness

into something so small—

a job ten minutes away.

So what was it?

Not the job.

Not my wife.

Not the kids.

Those are triggers.

They press the bruise.

Not enough.

Not belonging.

Not loved.

After,

I caught a train

into the city.

French Impressionism

at the NGV.

Before it closes

on Sunday.

Before they send

the Monets, Manets,

Degas and Cézannes

back to Boston,

Massachusetts.

Yes,

it was a distraction.

Sometimes we need it.

Light.

Air.

People standing still

together.

Shoulders touching.

Hardly anyone talking.

Cézanne doing nothing.

And somehow doing it.

Something in me

let go.

Not a cure.

More like

a hand

on the shoulder.

I stood there,

hands in pockets,

like a normal person.

Outside,

the traffic kept moving.

Inside,

the paintings did too.