Page 5 of Joey

Fear might be a better word. Fear that I am nothing. That I am worthless. That I am too small to matter. That everything I’ve ever done has now been cancelled out by all the things I’ll never do again.

But wasn’t that the point, Brooke?

My tablet is talking. The book is called Second Life: How to Remake Yourself in Ten Easy Steps.

The audiobook is over so it spits out something about credits and copyright. I turned it on last night when I climbed into my new bed and fell asleep to it. I do this every night and I almost always fall asleep immediately, so the next night I have to go back seventeen chapters or so and do it all again.

But I’m convinced that this stuff sticks in my brain. That it’s helping me. And somewhere inside me those ten easy steps in that book are working some kind of magic.

I listen to these books during the day sometimes too. Just let that thing play all day as I sit around trying to figure out what to do next.

This is the fourth audiobook I’ve done this with since I arrived in the city. The first one was called Calling Your Destiny: How to Make Your Own Luck.

I’m into self-help now, I guess.

It’s a new thing. But everything in my life these days is a new thing.

I have money and that’s nice. It’s probably more than I should have so I do appreciate the fact that I landed here with a cushion.

But while it was enough to start over, it’s not enough to keep me going. If I don’t work for the next year, I’ll be OK.

But after that… what? What do I do?

I could probably make the money stretch for two years if I have a tight budget. Eat ramen, and sell the car, and start taking public transportation. Parking the car in the underground garage costs almost enough as this modest, but zipcode-trendy apartment each month.

But I need the car. It’s a way out. A way to pack up and leave. So I’m not getting rid of the car.

That means I have one year to forget about my past and figure out my future.

I don’t know if a year is enough.

It’s the forgetting I worry about. The future too, but mostly the forgetting.

Will I ever forget?

It’s hot and humid out this morning. Sticky and uncomfortable. A beam of sun has found its way through the maze of tall buildings surrounding me and is blazing down on my face. This makes me want to close my eyes. It makes me tired.

Not the kind of tired that calls for sleep. The kind of tired that begs for an ending.

I’m sitting on my balcony. It’s really just one of those fire escape things you see on the side of buildings. And I’m drinking espresso from a brand-new machine I bought the other day.

I don’t even like espresso. I don’t know why I bought it. I think I’m just trying to be someone else. Someone who drinks espresso, I guess. Because I feel like someone else these days. Some stranger who now lives in the city and doesn’t need to work for a year.

I’m not me anymore.

Not that the other me was anyone special. I wasn’t. I’m still not.

But maybe, if I listen to enough self-help audiobooks while I sleep, I can call my own destiny?

All these books have the same message mostly. You have to put yourself out there. Be vulnerable. Be your own person. Be true.

So this is a problem.

I don’t know who I am, so how can I be my true self?

Also, I have no connections now. I literally have no one left on this planet who gives a single fuck about what I do.

Those books also say you have to find your strengths and build them up. But at the same time you have to minimize your weaknesses.