When people ask me about my future, it’s like they’re asking me to solve for X in some long alphanumeric puzzle. They query, “Where will you live?” and it is as if I see Japanese characters; it might as well be embellished hashtags to me.
They inquire, “How will you meet your financial obligations?” and I am as puzzled as if they asked me to describe a dream my dog had. How could I know?
They ask, “Will you have another child or another relationship?” and my mind goes blank as if I were attempting to calculate both winning Lotto numbers and the odds of winning.
I just don’t know and, what’s more, I don’t care. My friends keep telling me I will get through this. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. Constance isn’t here anymore so nothing else really matters.