Nodus Tollens: The realization that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore.
The sink is clogged again. I always end up pressing the disposal button at the wrong time. This new apartment has got me on edge; I’m used to brothers and sisters clogging up the airways with their voices and smells. Oh God the smells. Maybe I’m glad I booked it out of there. I am, I think. Oh God I’m indecisive. I look down in the drain and grimace. I stick my hand down, and before I can get whatever the hell is in the drain out, I squirm and quickly turn the sink on which is another mistake. The sink water level rises, I sigh. I twist the cold water tap until it’s a just a trickle, and take my overly large hand soap in hand. I watch my veiny hands wash away part of whatever clogging the sink. Bubbles pop and I’m lost in thought. What am I doing? I moved out of the house, I’m done with college, I have a job, now what? My job is alright, my love life is ‘alright.’ She sleeps in living room sometimes, but we all get like that. Right? They never tell you where to go from here. Maybe I’ll dye my hair or get a cat. Hell, I can’t afford a cat, and I’ll get castrated at my work coming in like that. An accountant with green hair, God forbid they’d call me a millennial. I walk half a step across my tiny kitchen and stare through the only window in the apartment.
If I look down I can see an alleyway, sometimes I hear commotion, but I try to avoid it. Maybe next time I’ll yell something down there. “Fuck off,” or “Stop making all this Goddamn noise at 3:30am.” I guess the time doesn’t matter because I’ve been turning to insomniac. I need to get my act together, or maybe it’s all supposed to be boring routine.