Zoom out, the headlights or the brake lights or the ones in the back, they illuminate a pathway wide enough to prove that it is definitely snowing.
Zoom in, a branch hits me in the eye.
“It’s weird how when you look into the light from the car, you can see the snow but it doesn’t actually look like it’s snowing, you know? Maybe you can’t tell, though.” My boyfriend knows that I am visually impaired but, not unlike most people, he continues to relate to me through his visual impression of our surroundings.
“I know what you mean,” I tell him.
Everything I see is snow. I have genitally fucked eyes. All I can see is a small dot of clarity straight ahead of me and everything else is snow, flashing lights, white noise, bright nothing.
I hate to advertise my disability in case you are a future employer but I know you aren’t, we’re friends, we’re comrades, it’s fine.
No one will employ me so let’s admit that I hate my job.
I worked today, didn’t have to, wanted to because every day I try to prove that I can do this, I can do this job that I happen to have out of luck despite the fact that I do not know what I am doing.
Online advertising.
Fuck online advertising.
If you are online, chances are you’re making someone money.
Every day I am more aware of the assholes we’ve become, the time-sucking gas-happy opinionated grinning dicks who feel entitled to be rude to the people who work in online advertising.
The internet is sheep’s blood and you are the exact doorway it’s been waiting to smear.
So am I.
Cold air reaches my toes when I stand on the ice, the soles of my feet numb, I am waiting for feeling and the first thing that reaches me is cold natural air.
Air is the only new I need to remember that deep in the fishbowl nothingness of this generation’s version of reality there is a floating turd that I am allowed to laugh at, I am allowed to swim in the other direction, I’m allowed to get out and run even if it means that I’m alone now forever.
Natural aloneness beats conglomerate synthetic shit-dripping glass vessel life.
Be yourself.
And do that, you can find yourself, crawling overboard, hitting the air, breathing, praying, writing and whispering to a home-made batch of wine that you are happy to be free.
I’ll upgrade my blog subscription now, just to get rid of the ads.
I love the brains who owe their thoughts to fleeing souls. Keep running. Goodnight.
Rachel Ganz 