Sunday:
A pimple grew about the size of a demon on the left side of my chin this morning. And still, I spent $35 on Chinese takeout the other night.
Monday:
“Sorry it looks like your apartment has plumbing damage. More than likely…due to the amounts of rodents chewing up the PVC pipes in the ceiling ma’am so this may take us a few days.”
Tuesday:
My ex reached out this morning, asking “do you think you made the right decision?” But now as I write this, I’m fighting back every fiber in my being not to tell him: I have no idea what I even want anymore.
Wednesday:
Mom insist there’s a ghost living in her attic though pest control claims it isn’t so. Except now, all I can think about is that one time in seventh grade when Anna McFay was pushed down the steps. “There’s a ghost in here,” Frankie would say. “And he’s standing right behind you.”
Thursday:
Anyways, I think my neighbor thinks I’m stalking him, though instead I had my headphones in. When I started to jog, he ran the other way which is currently blocked off as a dead-end.
Friday:
I drove to the park today, just a few miles away. Splat! Right down in the center of my head. “Look daddy, a baby seagull.” A trick shot. And of course, mother called. “You’re going to be a rich lady some day,” she said.
Saturday:
I soaked in the tub, for an hour or so when 3 more demons showed up piercing right through my forehead.
Until next time.
“I guess I just have to pick myself up, dust myself off, and throw myself right back down again.” —George Costanza (Seinfeld)
