I can’t be sure it’s not a ploy. Cut my hours. Make me quit. No…it’s only winter. And with warm weather things’ll pick up. The work will roll in. But for now I’m nervous. I’m jittery. Can I pay the rent? I’ve had it too good for too long. I’m due. I prepare myself for the kick.
And I need all the reasons I can find not to hate myself. But it’s hard. Even the idea makes me shiver. Because I see loving myself like looking down on others. Riding around on a high horse. And I never want to think I’m better then the people I see on the street. The ones who have it rough. The ones who don’t fit in. The ones I see my own face in.
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