| furniture (masculine plural noun) | /mœbl/
I don’t own my own furniture. I never have. I’m exhausting. My address changes every year. It varies by state, or by country. You could ask me where I see myself five years from now, and I’d laugh. Hell, where will I be five months from now? I feel strange, unstable, almost infantile in comparison to my friends who have bought homes, married, and “settled down.”
When I started applying for jobs, I realized I had no marketable skills aside from speaking French and teaching. I can’t even write a coherent blog post. I’m book smart, but not smart enough to pursue a PhD. I’m street smart (well…kinda). I like books and electro and travel. I’m interesting. Invite me to your cocktail parties. I’ll dazzle you with stories, but we’ll probably never speak again. Everything in my life is so transient. No furniture. No prospects. No address beyond June. Throw me headlong into the void and see what happens.
I’m attempting to categorize my feelings, to pinpoint that one moment that sent me spiraling.
I’m sorry, but as Kerouac said, I have nothing to offer you but my own confusion.