Monday, September 12, 2011


I'm not sure if I'm allowed to talk about it.
Not just yet.
Not to the general world.
But, boy oh boy am I excited.
For those curious minds, it's not that I'm pregnant.
Though now, maybe that wouldn't be the scariest of news.

It doesn't help the now though....

The we're so broke, no money for food, how the fuck does this work, now.
The sell what we can, make due, ask for a power strip and RAM so we can have a computer, now.
The "potato salad might make an okay dinner" and the "how many meals can we stretch this box of spaghetti" and the "thank God Caity showed us the Sunshine Pantry because we'll be heading there before the week is out I imagine" now.

The "then", oh, the "then" looks great.

Then we'll be able to have a house, with a yard.
Then we'll be able to pay all our debts off, and save for the future.
Then we'll be able to have a little one without stressing.
Then we won't bounce checks because our roommate is a week late on paying rent in full.
Then we'll be able to afford to get wedding presents for our friends.
Then we'll be able to get Christmas presents, maybe even a tree.
Then we'll be able to save enough to make our dreams come true.

Then.... oh, then.

I have this tiny, teeny, bubbling in my stomach. This little voice that's whispering 'soon, soon it'll all be okay'. I want so hard to believe in the then. The future. What may come to pass. The great, spectacular unknown. Beautiful as the cosmos, and within our reach.

I have the devil on my shoulder telling me it's all too good. Too easy. It'll never come to be, it'll never last. The weight of the now will kill us before we even think about the then. Because the weight of the now.... it's stifling. It's terrifying, it's nauseating, it's.... awful.

So fuck you now. Fuck you right in the ass. I'm done with you. I can't stand the acrid taste you leave in my mouth.

Hello then. Be as sweet as my fantasies, as warm as my desires, as lovely as my dreams. Wrap me in your embrace and please, please don't let me down.

No comments:

Post a Comment