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:
“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. 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:
My mom insist there’s a ghost in her attic, only 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:
I think my neighbor thinks I’m stalking him, but 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 the center of my forehead. “Look papi, a baby seagull.” A trick shot. And of course, my mother called, “you’re going to be a rich lady some day.”
Saturday:
I soaked in the tub, for maybe 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)
