Sometimes, when I'm alone, I forget. I forget that there's a world out there, and that it is big and beautiful and that there is so much to see in it and that it never runs out of possibilities.

When I'm alone, there is only one possibility, and even it doesn't always manifest.

I went out to the street on a New York autumn day, and immediately all possibilities took over me. So fast, that all I wanted to do was to go back to my one and only un manifested possibility under the blanket.

It wasn't that cold, the truth is that the weather was quite perfect. The beginning of the fall and all the humidity of the summer months evaporated to the four corners with the winds, once more you can fill the lungs, breath the unclear city air.

The real reason why I wanted to return home to my tiny east village apartment was that I had to meet some people about my future.

I hate my future. It just keeps sitting there, watching me constantly, and he already knows, but I don't.

He already knows if I'm a failure or a success, if it really is worth all the effort, if I really ever will have a true sense of peace, like on the cover of the Yoga magazine that someone left in my apartment's toilet. There are smiling people there, holding hands faces to the sky. I also want to look at the sky sometimes. But who has time for sky in New York. The people I need to meet about my future are people that are already in their own future. They are people in suits that know what they do, they already married their sweetheart and they are already grown ups so they don't need to constantly think what they want to do when they grow up. When I think about it, they are actually same age like me, one is even two years younger, but for some reason they are already in the future and I am still here, standing and looking at the fat woman crossing the street, thinking stupid thoughts about the past and the future.

I always do that, get myself mixed up with those kind of questions about what will be, and what I did wrong, and why everything is so complicated for me, but so simple for the people that are already in their own future.

Anyway, these people, with the suits, they need to decide if I get accepted to work in their office. They will probably read my life story r?sum?, which Donny wrote for me. What could have been written in three paragraphs, he smeared on two big pages. Donny is talented; he can make every single thing I did in my life sound serious and respected. I wish I could write like him, phrase sentences with such clarity, sometimes he writes what I think better then how I thought it, and only when I read what he wrote, I understand what I was thinking.

Donny is a good friend of mine, and he's always there when I need him. I don’t know if he's already in his future or not, because Donny never really tell me anything about himself, but I know he's a good friend, and that he helps me organize my thoughts when I'm confused. And I'm almost always confused.