Laying on the floor last night, going through the computerized tax thing, inputting all my W-2's and 1099's, marvelling at how little money I made last year. The carpet was rough, sturdy, and familiar, grey and black, and used to sit in my living room in Queens.
I was terrified almost all the time, toward the end of my tenure in Queens, there. There was no way to make money, no way to pay bills, a constant stream of adreneline and bile in response to the decisions I'd made, but now, I've paid some of the Karma off, and the final few repayments are coming due - nothing I can't handle, but a reminder of what I went through, like a scar that aches a little on the anniversary of its creation.
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