My co-worker said: “You’re becoming a junkie.” I waited for the smirk to curl into a laugh, a statement to unfurl to a joke, but when there was none, when I think he’s half-serious, I could only sputter incoherently. He goes on to say, “see, no way are you an introvert” also in reference to my lifestyle habits.
I think of how I used to like cats until I started to like dogs more. I think of how I’d always get an “I” on my Myers-Briggs test until I keep on getting an “E” when I took it two days ago (ENFP!). I think of how I'm starting to like both cats and dogs now and what this all means to the universe. I don't see how any of this would result in a junkie comment, unless by junkie he means I'm gulping down as much excitement as I can. If by junkie he means I'm never home except between the golden time of 9-10am. If by junkie he means I'm alive with every fiber of my being.
Too much Cudi for my own good and raging. Just enough wine to rescue a kiss. When we take smoke breaks we end up hurling the butts from floor seventeen. Sometimes the pollution itself smells like smoke, and god knows how much worse the air here is than drugs.
On the uncertainty of life he says, “it's like having a monkey on my back.”
Better monkey than elephant.