Good/Bad Delay

Be good, have someone, self-improvement becomes a back-burning ember. Be dating, have a few close friends, suddenly writing seems less important, getting out more feels less persuasive, this is a trap, because in 10 years you will still be degree-less and publication-less and then what? The frustration will bubble up like it always does. We sit on our butts when comfortable with the people we have knowing often it was the discomfort that led us to said people. The room becomes messier because their rooms are messier, so why bother? Someone talks about moving to Chicago and while it's still way too cold and not tropics like you dream of it's also one of your favorite cities in the country, so why not? And then you fear sitting in your room sad and glum while everyone around you moves up, more income, more prestige, more smiles, the trips you once had now gone and you try to smooth over the wrinkles, metaphor or otherwise, with affectations and confirmations of appreciation and late night dinners and kisses but what does it matter? The writing is dry, the skin is dry, the pork you brought out of the freezer is dry. Replace the disappointment of grades and loneliness and puberty and acne and fear and the unknown with all of the same, sub out grades for jobs and puberty for aging, they're all the same really, and you get the picture. How to afford what you can afford. How to afford to be good enough. How to afford such a reduced social circle. How to afford a car. How to afford living with yourself.