4 am. Again. I'd woken up at 4 am or thereabouts for the past week. Something about my worn out mattress on the floor of my small second floor apartment was finally interrupting my sleep/ Even though I'd finally gotten enough money to afford a bed frame I'd suddenly lost the motivation. To be fair my anxiety had kept me in the apartment for the better part of the week. But as I shifted my feet on the dusty carpet I'd bought when I went to college to look out of the curtain-less windows, my anxiety lessened and I was able to make a plan for the day. It was raining and cold, I could easily conceal myself in the shadowy fog if I got overwhelmed. Besides at 4 am no one was bound to be roaming Dreamwood Terrace or the surrounding hell hole of a neighbourhood. So step 1. Get out of the door.
That was all I had. But I figured it was all I needed, once I got out the artist in me would take over, I mean as long as I grabbed my camera before leaving. Thankfully the eeriness of 4 am Dreamwood compelled me to do so. As I headed towards the door I passed by the wall of Polaroids I had put up when I first moved in a year and a half ago. God it'd been so long since I shot. The edges of the photos had begun to yellow and curl. I'd stop to stare at my old photographs too long, I was determined to make it out the front door today. I passed by the old mirror I kept by the door. I looked like Morrissey, heavily tousled hair and square rim glasses. Only I was far less romanticized, in real life no one romanticizes the starving artist. I need a haircut. I'd need to get out of the apartment to do that though.
Rather than lament of the deteriorating state of my youthful looks I unlocked the door and stepped outside, I didn't bother to put a jacket over my plain white t-shirt.