Erasure.

I've been dodging phone calls. Things just got so... much, and I let things slide. I let myself let things slide. The bank's been calling, and at first I didn't know who it was so I didn't answer. Then, I forgot to call back. And now it's been three weeks, or four, and they've given up. I breathe a sigh of relief, because my chest constricts a bit when my phone rings. Not so much as it used to, you know, before I became experienced in the art of evasion. I kind of hope that the mood will strike me to call back, or pick up if they call again. "I'm so sorry," I'll say. "I was out of the country and didn't have a phone." Anyway, I don't think it was important. I hope it wasn't.

This is, though. This is something that I shouldn't have let myself convince myself that it isn't important, because it's the one talent that I haven't given up on honing. It's what I'm good at, it's what I want to do. Supposedly. It's the direction of my life, and I slid away from it. I didn't notice it happening, really. Didn't let myself. What does that mean for me?

I can't choose another path. I don't think I want to. But I give up the things that I want for myself, because in doing so I'm not letting anybody down. Everything else just swells, is so pregnant with should and have to, imminent disappointment, impending failure, it eclipses. Everything. All I can remove from my accountability.

And I disappear.