Ten.Two Thousand & Eleven
In the dream I was doing psychedelic breath but I am waking up because I feel like I’m doing it in my sleep.
Keep it light.
There are only six more pages left. I have to be economical with my words.
I remember to have my free hand to guide me up the stairs.
I tell her she can be both/and. Good things can make us sad.
I feel like I’m in a fog. Thank goodness she is here because I can tell I’m disconnected. Off my game. It’s getting hotter.
I tell her I need to get off the phone. Nausea. Maybe it’s because it’s 2:15 in the afternoon, and I haven’t eaten all day. I try not to throw up while I warm up the day’s lunch.
He tells me to keep doing what I’m doing. I just say “thank you,” but on the inside, I’m asking, “How? How? How do I make this thing that I do that everyone says is so important be the only thing I do? Can someone help me figure it out? And fast! I’m slowly dying over here.” But I keep just saying, “Thank you.”
WTF.
41 days.
The way the dusty dusky golden light of the setting sun pokes through as we approach the underpass. Oh, it’s so beautiful. It’s all so beautiful.
“It was whatever.”
