Exiled to a Starbucks.
Although, if I’m perfectly honest, it feels like a holiday from the mundaneness of what my daily routine has become.
Armed with snacks in my slouchy leather bag and every cord imaginable, here I am. The only thing I disdain about this little sojourn is the constant vaping I can do from the comfort of my blue velvet couch. Though truly, my lungs and my vapes could use a damned break every once in a while and it’s not like I can’t step outside and do it, although, that could mean losing my cushy little leather chair near a luxurious outlet.
I ordered a tall Pike Place roast with room for cream and one packet of Turbinado sugar. I figure I can move onto a Blonde roast or a Flat White at some point during my long tenure here. Who knows, perhaps I’ll write.
Things came to an inevitable blow yesterday. RJ called me out for a meeting, right there near the middle of the courtyard. I perforated his argument saying I’m not a right fit for his program and that his attempts at tough love were nothing compared to the malicious shiv of a voice within my head that I later unsheathed on both of them.
I still felt Haley nursing her scars this morning as she doled out my Lexapro and Gabapentin.
I told them I’m homesick and stubbornly so, I just want to go home. But I feel trapped here. I’m reluctant to plant down roots of any kind because I don’t want to add to my feelings of entrapment.
Yet somehow, I’m the odd man out.
Nina Simone came on the overhead speaker, her cover of “Here Comes the Sun”. I felt goosebumps prickle themselves like small hills over the great geography of my skin.
The pendulum of my heart swings in my chest while the mourning dove of hope rests there, burrowing herself beneath her wings.
Nightingale 
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