The Cast & Crew in Preface to Epilogue

Each day I wake up there is still a lottery as to which escort I’ll have next to me for the duration. Not like moods, these are ghosts with heavy chains, mostly, that are standing next to me waiting to filter how I get through the next 18hrs. Often they are cruel, unkind, dismissive, shameful, burdensome, and opaque.
Rarely does one greet me with a smile, and a warm blanket.
Instead of resisting or putting up some sort of a fight, I typically resign immediately and think “oh, this is how I’m going to be today…“, then a weighted sigh exerts from my shoulders, I piss along the bowl of the toilet so as to dampen the sound, and then look in the mirror hardly to know the flaky skinned, fury face squinting back at me.
Like a squirrel chasing my own tail, I feel like some days I’m endlessly tumbling ass over apple cart to find a resemblance of the self-realization I once had. A vast majority of those “some days” make me feel tired and weak before I’ve even put on a clean pair of underwear and felt the hard faux-wood floor under my calloused feet and creaking ankles.