Oh, Oh, Ooh oh oh

He forwards the email, and as soon as I get home (I walk) I open my computer and send off my old packet. "Two packets, one week" I think. A little star wish. My social media has snowy frowns and mittens from Chicago, but here it's all palm trees. On Wednesday I wear my short grey dress. No tights. Friday night patio at a cantina with coworkers. They just saw me do a show. I ask them if they've experienced Destiny. One says meeting her husband, one says no, one says this job, two say every day. I'm unsure myself. But I do know if there is no Destiny, we can fake it. We can feel humbled by the perfection Arbitrary served up. And why not? I asked after I saw The Color Purple specifically. But I crumbled when I chose the wrong path. Is it the one that got away? It's too woven into my brain chemistry to write a new story that always includes a full circle. Anything is a circle if you want it to be. But why not let it be? Tira says that's how poor people stay poor. They wait on the lord instead of using their free will to fix broken systems. I don't disagree. I can't believe six days ago I was up at 5:30 AM editing so ferociously I passed out. Literally passed out. The evening sound bath with Tax Any & Maf couldn't come fast enough. I think the bowl vibrations hung in my ears all week. I made my first mistake at work, showed up two hours late once. But I also submitted my book to a lit agent, those two twinkling packets (what I swore I couldn't do). And beyond that, I dreamt I Did A Thing. It was good but not THAT good, which made me feel it was real when I woke up. Shellz texted me. She had the same dream. In real life Lo texted me tonight. Promising news. My hopes: not high about any one thing, but floating about any thing. I didn't care for If Beale Street Could Talk even though I wanted to. It was worth the $5 popcorn, but it was too slow. I'm not patient enough for beauty. Maybe I'll remember something years from now. Like the play about video games I thought was fine in 2014. I think about it every single week. And based on that or based on nothing I told Puhg on the lamppost corner what my new goal is. I think I have fifteen years, right? I couldn't have script doctored tonight. Thoughts too fuzzy. I wrote here instead. Without intention I already know tomorrow will be another early morning. I want it to be. I'll work on Act II of T____. It calls me. Like I have several children. I can only care for the one that needs me most.  Panic! At the Disco every time I get in the car.