I lie on a bed that is not mine. I look around and see a life that isn't mine. From the Tijuana Bibles book to the globe on the desk...to the pair of slippers underneath the bed...none of it belongs to me. My search for a place to live continues.

I ate fries with cheese and gravy about an hour ago. I think I want to throw up. I convince my body that I need this food...I haven't eaten since yesterday night. I can still only see with one eye, I need for my contacts to get here.

I messaged Rene. Once I talk to him, I need to figure out what I am doing next weekend. I panic. Am I going to visit Iowa? Am I going to pick him up from the airport in Sioux Falls? Is he going to come back to Cincinnati with me? I impatiently await his response.

I need to get a phone...yesterday. I was imposing tonight. I am detached from what's going on right now. I blame my vision. ...I went to a show tonight. The Last Troubador. They played well. They played very well. They are all adorable. I heard a guitar later...I saw a man play a guitar...when he played it I saw it pulsate and become alive. I imagined the guitar having legs and arms and a ferocity. The guitar then jumped down from the man's hands and into a different world. ...Then I saw the guitar aggressively eating the heads off the little people in the town below. I can't think like this...I went outside and had a cigarette. ...I hear people around me talk in code about selling drugs. Numbers are exchanged. Why are we here? This place is shady. We left.

I want to see again. Tuesday. Wednesday...hopefully before Thursday. Mom messages me on Facebook. The eye doctor called about my contact lenses. Grandma talks to aunt who tells cousin to call me to ask why I moved. Also to let me know about the contact lenses. How have I been gone a month and no one has fucking asked me if they want to know? I don't share anything. I am not sharing anything. People don't know where I am. I don't want them to know. I am here. I am here without them.