Yet I continue to torture myself like a herion adict who is just to scared to go clean. I’m scared to stop doing what I know no longer enjoy doing. I tried for ten years. The high is not the same. It is mostly just hang over. I’m still talking about being a messenger and not heroin anymore. That was just a poor anology. I’m the king of those.
I road my bike out to a movie premiere. Of course I had to wear my bag. What else would I put my extra clothes and notebook in? Not my car like a normal person. I actually thought I would fit in. It’s a bike movie premiere. Everyone will have there bikes and bags right? No I’m the only person walking around the bar before the movie with his messenger bag. But since when did I ever feel in place?
Never. Definitely not in middle school. Or high school. College, a little, but beer helped. Now? Who knows. I look at my bag, my bag looks at me, and it all is just a reminder, “my job isn’t to fit in, my job is being a messenger.”
