i have to clean my car. this is no ordinary carcleaning there is & has been enough shit in the car that it sits a couple inches lower on its wheels, for months. i’ve had to dig through it on many occasions. beverages have been spilled. the trunk has leaked. there are … smells. lifeforms, the kind that smell, are in there somewhere. waiting with something like sinister patience or maybe mindless malevolence it doesn’t really make a difference i am ready to confront my unreadiness.
i am ready for christmas (it helps when you’re not doing anything for christmas except muttering under your breath & committing random acts of justifiable rudeness i mean fuck christmas) what i am not ready for is friday. i have been waiting for friday for my whole entire life and never been anywhere near ready until very recently, so i’ll consider just having a reeking pile of refuse in my car that requires removal prior to friday to be incredible progress. and so will you. there you go.
and friday may or not be a metaphor. it certainly isn’t etched in granite at this point or even printed on a plane ticket yet it might even be more of an indeterminate moment chosen randomly by open road things change you know they do they change i love that about things.
cleaning my car may or may not also be a metaphor, although if it is it is a very very fucking literal metaphor.