Sometimes, I am amazed by my life. There were times when blackness threatened to swallow me whole and anger tore through my bones like blunted knives. I have memories of sobbing in the daylight and laughing in the dark. And, there are times when the utter absurdity of my circumstances make it impossible to do anything than raise an eyebrow and a glass.
Here I am, at twenty six years old with a fresh new Master’s degree in my pocket, and I’m driving delivery for an Indian restaurant.
It’s not that I’m too proud for the job. Hell, get money, get paid. I have never looked down on scrapping to make ends meet, because, as Cage the Elephant once mused, ain’t nothing in this world for free. I’m lucky to have found something close by and that pays relatively well. Though, having been at this for a grand total of five days, delivery is harder than it looks. I will never shank a driver with a three dollar tip again. Weaving in and out of traffic, trying to make a GPS work, traipsing from one corner of town all the way to another, and in the end getting a crumple of one dollar bills? It’s not particularly glamorous.
On the other hand, my free time has started waking my muse from her slumber. She’s allowed me to write a couple of poems (which, trust me, I’m much better at prose) and I’m excited at the prospect of maybe attempting slam poetry. I managed a couple more hundred words on the next manuscript, which felt like running uphill in the snow in the thin air of the Rockies.
I can’t see the mountains from my window, but there are times when I’m driving and they rise in the distance like a monolith, shadowy titans against a fading sky.
Regardless, I’m doing my best to keep my head high and my feet moving. It’s not quite what I was expecting on the threshold of my late twenties, but neither am I. It’s enough to have money in my pocket, wind in my hair, and mountains breaking the horizon.
The free naan is just a perk.