In a state of vagueness—or the immediate three meters in front of me, mostly other people, a signboard asking me if I should stop and breathe for a while, imagined smog, backstabbers—I manage to slice through everything, just to take one jeep.
I realign my allegiances with other things, particularly forcing myself to get rid of certain self-denials, such as the face I now go by, the joints that hurt from time to time due to various excesses, or my hesitance to show my love to my family more often.
How much time will the hiatus take? I no longer have the luxury of locking myself in a room, carefree, with regularly scheduled meals; I have to deal with bills and other things to fix just to keep my daily life running as efficient as possible.
One of the last pieces I read reminded me of one of Allan Popa's poems. This tidbit is a ticking time bomb considering how much context I have withheld regarding this hiatus. This is me signaling to anyone monitoring this with hands up, except my hands are rapidly moving from side to side as if doing some absurd CrossFit maneuver.