i wake up in a knock-off hilton parking lot after having nearly all my bags stolen the night before. i remembered crying all night, although, ostensibly, i gave up in a senescent leaf-filled ditch with one left over bag beneathe me. perhaps i tripped and knocked myself out to get there. i had no recollection of choosing a ditch as my sleeping grounds. i could hear the clapping of empty canvas flags in the wind but after a while, i habituated. the white noise softened. the bags are heavy and there is loneliness, but it lessens. i climb out of the ditch and take a look around. it was dusk. the ditch was actually a rain-gutter for the hotel parking lot. covered in dead leaves and mud, i headed for the building. i limped into the lobby through double sliding glass doors and dropped my bags on the marble floors. i checked in without saying anything. the manager never asked for identification or money, but prepared me a room key. an usher took the bags to the elevator. “welcome back to feeling. it’s been two days since your last stay,” says the attendant. “and you have no missed calls,” he adds as i fidget with my pocket, “so stop checking.” i must have looked dissatisfied, so he said aristocratically, “if you’re tired of experiencing the change, you could always shower. hygiene is typically well-received.” i looked down at my mud-caked feet through my sandal straps. before i could apologize for my state, he began again, dreamily now, “perhaps the variation in your emotional colors will paint the shower and you could observe tangible proof of your inner brooding: markedly, the omnipresent, non-exclusive, metacognitive symptom known as ‘the human condition’. i suppose you could —one— turn on music or movies to save you from your thoughts; you know, escapism? —or, two— opt silence instead: watch the hues of your emotions mix by sudsing them free from your clogged pores, until they churn into earth brown, leaching for the drain,” he cheerfully sang. i stepped back from the reception desk. “what the hell?” he broadly grinned at me. “either way, my dear, you probably will not experience lasting relief. change takes time. so take it.” he wiggled the key-card at me. after unpacking i showered, trying to ignore the words from the receptionist below. i put a fresh towel in my hair and another around my body. i wanted to look in the mirror, but it was covered in condensation. i stepped outside on the balcony still wet, leaving wet footprints across the third floor suite carpet. i clutched the towel for humility’s sake. i noticed the canvas flag snapping over and over again to empty the wind. i felt lonely again. i recalled a voice from my memory that said, “look up.” i looked up. the stars seemed distant now. my vagus nerve ached. it said, “do you see orion’s belt? now do you see his dagger? if you draw a line between his dagger and the furthest star on his belt, you make an arrow that will always point north.” with my index finger, i drew an arrow in the night sky. change takes time but you will always have some place to go.
