you wake up. in your dream, you were suffocating.
in consciousness, they are winning again. first intake of breath and they are in your face, telling you that you've already fucked up today, you've fucked up opening your eyes and there is no way they are letting you back to sleep.
trying to fight is surreal. you are surrealist so you shower, get dressed, spritz nostalgic-but-can't-remember-why perfume.
is it a good day? can't really tell. subway rides are emotional russian roulette so you focus on changing the song a thousand times in case this one has your mind wander into a ditch again. she's sitting in front of some dead plants near the entrance of an elementary school. you see her first from across the street.
"i know what they always say, but i don't want to end up like my parents," she confesses to you. "and i don't want to end up like one of those stay-at-home moms with their strollers and their cultish meetups at whole foods."
"i just can't do that, ya know?"
you know. but you also think it would be kind of awesome to feel the kind of peace that a whole foods cult mother theoretically does. maybe there is nothing glorious about blonde gossip amidst unnaturally neatly arranged jars of organic nut butter, but you just want to sleep through the night. you just want to sleep through the night.
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