Dishes

I worry about a lot of things.

I worry that the world is getting warmer. Melting. On fire.

I worry that I’ll never hit that point in my life where I say,

“So this is what I’ve been waiting for. Working towards.”

Sometimes I worry about smaller things.
I cut my finger the other day doing the dishes.

“How bad is this? Stitches?”

At least I kind of like doing dishes now.

I used to hate doing dishes.

Someone told me once, though, that I could just go and drop dead at any moment.

Suddenly doing dishes doesn’t seem too bad.

But I didn’t like cutting my finger.

Sometimes I worry about really spacey things.

“Am I a good person?” Classic, right?

“Am I a good boyfriend?”

I really want to be, and it’s more than just wanting it. Follow through.

I think I really just want to do my part, or something.

I worry that people won’t be able to understand or at least listen to each other, especially now.

I worry that sometimes I’m a part of that.

But, sometimes it gets a little simpler.

I mean, I don’t hate doing dishes anymore.