Drunk enough that this could be euphoria, or a few beers, or the combination of the two mixed with the fasted bike back home ever. Tilted to the side. Walked over the sidewalk. Passed some drunk people leaving the bar.
And then I was off.
Turned right at the stop light, didn't even bother to pause. Rode and pedaled harder than I ever have. Faster than the cars behind me. My ankle caught in the gear. I didn't care. No blood, no verification that I am indeed human. The sweat on my back sticking my skin to the wall isn't enough. My dress rode up, past my knees, showing a birthmark on my thigh and a hoot and a holler if you need anything holler but I just need a second of your time please my favorite underwear on display for all of Proctor at 1 am.
I turned on the oven today. Was about to touch the rack, rest my wrist against the wall for onemississippitwomississippithreemississippifourmississippifivemississippi when my downstairs tenant opened the basement door. Quickly turned away.
Is there life on this planet?
Eyes can't focus enough to muster enough determination to actually do anything. It might be self-indulgent, but I don't do anything.
Every night I start to have nightmares. Usually I get out of them. I have thought of thousands of what-ifs, what would I do in what situation? I would pull the baby out of the river, kick them in the nuts, perform CPR until I tasted his brains and bones and blood in my mouth. And I know that she would slip, that I would stutter in broken German and English, that I would let them die, and that would tourment me even more.
Ok night dove.