Stream of consciousness / 8:06pm

Today, I had to put the chickens back in their coop before they were ready for it. I felt so bad and guilty flinging their feathery little bodies over the door but a storm was on the way and I had no choice. I made sure they were all okay before I ran to the clothes line to get our sheets off. In my hurry, I tracked red mud into the house.

My new computer is so user-friendly I can barely get around using it. I get uncomfortable at the prospect of my someday children explaining basic tech functions to me in the same long-suffering tone with which I explain keyboard shortcuts to my dad.

I’ve noticed I get sick every time my heart gets sad. With each nonchalant but hurtful comment made by a well-intentioned friend, every spike in my anxiety or disappointment I can feel the next bout of flu coming on. I have a theory that it’s because I’m in recovery. Now that I can’t count on my eating disorder to help me stifle my feelings I have to encounter them in their painful entirety. Or maybe my immune system never fully recovered from being born and raised in India. Also my sex drive has been getting progressively more and more intense every time I ovulate. Sorry ovaries, I’m gay as hell and therefore will be approaching reproduction the long way around.

I’m trying to look at the world close-up. I’ve been zooming around it for so long it’s blurred itself into an ecstatic tragedy and I sometimes feel like I’m losing my grip on the particles that make up my life. My partner’s legs against mine before sleep. Burning my hands on my steering wheel after parking in the sun. Learning my way around new sheet music. Sweat dripping off my elbows after throwing my body around to Talking Heads. The smell of vanilla and almonds in the kitchens at work. Crying to my sixth-grade journals. This is where I must always start from. I am no good to the world when I don’t exist within it.

It is Wednesday evening. I am perched on the edge of my kitchen counter, hoping that the marble cools my fever off. I don’t think that’s what I’m meant to do but it feels so goddamn nice. I am going to make baked potatoes and then eat them in bed.

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