I did not take control of the season.
I did not pursue a thing; I waited for it to happen. When the thing didn’t happen, I would continue waiting. I would become quite tired. There was a lot of waiting, and a lot of being tired.
Somewhere between the American Halloween and the late twenties Halloween I looked up parties happening in the city. I wanted to dance and come off well in front of women and meet somebody and be astounding and be enveloped in arrangements of seasonal lighting and music.
I mentioned the parties to my friends. I mentioned them but I did not ask if they wanted to go. They did not ask me if I wanted to go. I was unable to get out of the box myself. I needed somebody to shove the box and perhaps tip me out of it, and I was aware of this. The most I could do was throw a hint and wait.
So we did not go.
If there had been me at these parties, they would of course not have been in the photographs. They would be off-shot and self-defeated and perhaps in a toilet cubicle pressing their palms into their face because they did not understand how to be dancing and felt as though they might decease under the crush of the panicked hopeless mind.
I do not know what I think is going to happen. I do not know what I am waiting for.