All food is too large for my tiny mouth! I hate biting into things
All food is too large for my tiny mouth! I hate biting into things
just watched a vid of beyonce and nicki performing flawless in paris last night and my heart rate skyrocketed and i feel lightheaded like good lord almighty JESUS
I was sitting behind the driver’s seat of a car or van, staring at my face in the rear view mirror. Sea salt was all over my face. I shifted slightly to see all the parts of my salty face.
"Did I see Lauren’s cheese sculpture?" my brother, Ryan, asked my dad from the front passenger’s seat.
"No," I heard my father’s voice reply from the driver’s seat.
Something was about to happen. I tried to remember the contents of the last e-mail I sent Max Guy, but I couldn’t remember. I hoped that, if I was going to die during what was about to happen, it was a good last e-mail.
I have seen 3 apartments so far and have FOURTEEN appointments crammed into the next few days. I am the housing search goddess. I don’t know how this happened. I have a spreadsheet. I’m a grown-up!
After all those years of utter resistance, fear, and worry - and now, finally having given them a try - I’ll admit it: anti-depressants are pretty incredible and entirely necessary for me.
yesterday I saw a dead body in the street and there was a brief electrical fire in my house
Earth sues God for unrelenting pain of Life
sitting in the bun shop watching this dude play a 1st-person POV computer game where you just run through an idyllic landscape killing large lizards and lil bunnies with a big ax. Landslide is playing over the soundsystem as I watch him play this game and it is SO HARD to not laugh. this is amazing
like I’m a bright hard-working adaptable lil bitch with a college degree HELLO
I lived in a building that kept being referred to as “The Copycat” but was definitely not the Copycat building. It was more like a cross between a row house and a warehouse, so smaller than the actual Copycat, with gray stone on the outside rather than red bricks.
Anyway, I lived there in a small room in the very center of the building, alone. Mariah also lived there, with her husband and child. They lived way up top, maybe taking up a whole floor. If I had to guess, the whole thing was maybe 6 floors tall, and not all that wide, but there were somehow many, many apartments. One thing I noticed, when seeing the entire thing in ruins, was that there were no hallways - just rooms stacked one on top of the other.
Which brings me, of course, to seeing the entire thing in ruins. The whole building had had a nasty lean about it for quite a while, which we all kind of brushed off in the spirit of that weird trust we all seem to have in old buildings. The only thing about the architecture that had really bothered me while living there was that the walls seemed to be made of paper.
Anyway, the thing finally teetered over, crumbling a good half of the building. The back half. Kind of at an angle. The rear wall of my apartment in the center remained standing, as did the building forward from that, but everything else above and behind was just gone. There was rubble everywhere.
I hurried over to the building with Mariah, both of us strangely not in much of a panic, maybe due to shock. Mariah suddenly realized her entire apartment was completely gone, and had no idea if her husband and child had been inside when it happened. She ran off to figure it out.
Remembering the great (pirate?) radio station that ran out of an apartment in the back center of the building, I sighed. What a shame. Around this time, I saw my parents.
The following days were all a direct aftermath to the building collapsing, but each day seemed to be chronologically fluid and from a different alternate universe. Some people seemed to know this - for example, one of the days, I was against the ground, cowering from some attacker with a massive, garish axe. He swung it down directly at my face, and when I opened my eyes, he had stopped it an inch short of my nose. He leaned over and said to me, “and to think, there’s another day out there where it didn’t stop.” He got up and left.
One day, I ended up in a dim apartment that belonged to my parents. The carpet seemed old and the walls were painted green. They had these two embroidered wall-hangings I had apparently made for them years ago. They were dark brown with white words embroidered on them. I can’t for the life of me remember what they said. My parents absolutely treasured these embroideries for some reason, and were baffled when I said that I had no recollection of making them.
At some point, I had salvaged two large chunks of money (that belonged to a missing friend and myself), and was carrying them around with me, very, very nervously. I was afraid they would be stolen. Some friends of mine finally caught on to why I was acting so weird and paranoid and they scolded me for being so mistrustful of them. In a parking garage with two friends, I became overwhelmed with the feeling that everyone was trying to steal my money and ran off in hysterics, the huge wads of cash clasped in my hands.
Later, I was on the phone with a mumbling person who had very important information for me. I was desperate for this information, an address.
"WHERE on Light Street? WHERE?" I ended up yelling, and the voice grumbled a six or seven numbers off. I grew furious, knowing that no such address existed.
"That’s not a real place! Please! Just tell me!" I sobbed. I never got the address.
In one half-destroyed apartment, there were glass display cases stacked up to eye level with old-timey items. I focused on a hand-colored photograph of two smiling women with cat-eye glasses. I wasn’t listening to what the person there was saying, just staring at the photograph.
Trudging through the rubble, presumedly looking for survivors, I came upon a disgusting but spacious apartment. In the absolutely abhorrent kitchen, someone had spray painted “HE’LL MAKE A GREAT GHOST” across the cupboards.
There was another part of the large space that was sectioned off by a bed sheet, and I cautiously peeked in. There was a body on a flea-ridden mattress, with a half-dozen or so cats prowling around. I couldn’t look away from the body - its head was shrunken, its neck stretched out like a narrowing cone. The head was maybe just a bit larger than my fist, a pruney little nightmarish thing.
I was about to tear my eyes off the eyeless face, when the corpse began to stir as though awaking from a nap. It grumbled and I bolted out of the apartment.
I’m in an empty suburban house with an ally - I was very paranoid about something or other, he was the only one I trusted at that time. We weren’t supposed to be there. Some other people who weren’t supposed to be there came in, and I felt threatened - then the homeowners came walking towards the house with a flashlight, and we all ran.
As I ran, I thought to myself, “how did I get myself into this?” I had been led into it by looking into the building’s collapse and subsequent terrible events. I pictured the building clearly in my mind as I ran through front yards in an unfamiliar place.
"I wonder if people who have facebooks are talking about it on there," I thought, and an image of a meme with the image of the building from my mind, with overlaid text that said "Never Forget." It could have been meant earnestly, to the casual observer, but I knew it was mean-spirited. Who would make that at a time like this?! I shook the mind-facebook away from my thoughts. Who cares what people say.
Growing ever frustrated with days passing and their continuity not really making sense, I found myself in an argument with someone about it.
"Tell me this," I said, posturing myself into some kind of authoritative stance and tone, "did Aaliyah die in a plane crash?" The person immediately scoffed, as though what I was saying was absolutely insane.
"Well?" I said, arms folded. The person rolled their eyes.
"Of course not. Everyone knows she’s in physical therapy adjusting to her change."
"How can you not know this? She became a cello-playing Leslie, and now she’s in that fancy rehab resort in Costa Rica getting used to the new shape. Duh."
The Aaliyah of that universe flashed into my mind - she was a terrifying combination of a human and a walrus (which were called “Leslie”). She sat next to a smiling physical therapist in a shallow part of an indoor pool. She was possibly smiling - it was hard to tell with that horrendous face - and holding a small cello, half-submerged in the water.
"She’s a brave woman for going through all that for her beliefs!" my argument-partner said aggressively, and stormed off. I stood in shock, wishing I had never seen a Leslie.