metamorphosis

so, I was sitting in kafka's living room a week ago.

and we were chatting about things.

the baby was rolling around on his carpet.

his daughter lending her stuffed toys that entertained her to no end.

and when that end did come,

we wrapped it up. his wife was tired from climbing the mountain that is 9 months in the making.

and kafka asks me, "so, do you miss queens now that you've been here a while?"

"a little bit less and less. I still have days where I miss the thorough borough, but they have been less of late"

I've been thinking on that since uttering those words and I have been sudividing it to myself.

and the prevailing answer seems that I haven't missed it as much but every now and again when I go to queens to get my car, I let slip to my ladyfriend that I'm going he to get the car.

so perhaps I'm bullshitting myself.

perhaps I miss home more than I even let myself know.

perhaps I just down sleep enough to grant myself the consciousness to know.

or perhaps knowing that the circle may bring me back makes it easier to digest that I don't live there anymore.

ida know. maybe the bastard should sleep more.

—the bastard