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I pour fresh coffee into an oversized black mug.  It’s filling and then it’s spilling all over the counter, neatly covering the surface with vanilla-scented liquid, making two straight lines onto the hardwood floor, into shadows of dusk.

I think I’m really out of it, and I am.  I feel queasy, often.  I have acne.

 

This actually seems to be working.  I can’t imagine myself having any stupid gender arguments ever again.  There are many things happening simultaneously, not least of which is a violent increase in my body fat percentage, although I didn’t gain any weight.  It’s also infinitely easier to maintain the resonance and timbre of my voice.

 

And I decided that I’m not really alone in this, I’m just needy.  Note to self; be less needy.

 

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