Five Dollars and I Lost My Mind a Little

The jacket has been on the back of that chair since approximately March. I don't know why I picked it up today, I think I was going to move it to the closet and finally be a person who hangs things up. Instead I put my hand in the pocket and there was a five-dollar bill in there, folded into a little square like I had hidden it from myself on purpose.

I screamed. Not loud. But I screamed. And then I smoothed it out on the bed and just looked at it for a second, the way you look at something that doesn't quite make sense. Five dollars is not a lot of money. I know this. And yet. In the specific economy of right now, the one where I've been watching every number and logging every shift and closing the ledger and telling myself the math works, five dollars that appeared from nowhere felt like the universe handing me a small, crumpled receipt that said you're okay, actually.

logging it. officially in the ledger.

I wrote it in the notebook. I'm not even embarrassed. Found money, jacket pocket, June. It's in there. The list is done, the ledger is closed, I'm technically leaving soon, and I found five dollars, and somehow that felt like the most honest summary of where I am right now. Not grand. Not scary. Just: five dollars, a jacket, a Tuesday that turned out fine.

I don't know what I'm going to spend it on. Maybe nothing. Maybe I'll keep it folded the same way and put it in my travel bag as the first thing that goes in. That feels right for some reason I can't explain yet.