[2026-05-05] nightmare
Mike put my yogurt in the cabinet last night. At least I thought he did, when I couldn't find it in the fridge and accused him of hiding it under the kitchen counter and why would he do that because yogurt has to be refrigerated and I can't eat it anymore and I cry.
Last night, I was a wedding I didn't want to be at, but I faked joy because I can, but this time they could tell I wasn't all there. My ex begged me to pay attention to him and I checked out at Costco and then biked around my old neighborhood as children slid in the mud, sucked into a dark cave at the bottom when they couldn't get back up the hill. I climb up the staircase to the attic where the girls are getting ready and they shoot me dirty looks and my body is suspended even though there's no noose and there's blood, so much blood, a long sword and a severed neck because I faked it all and everyone can see through me. There's a gun and I'm running and assault and I'm running and "why are you doing this" and I'm dragging myself off the ground. When I go back downstairs, I kneel at the feet of a pastor who condemns me to bow and chant "I Repent, O Heavenly Father" for all of eternity. Impaled, limbs ripped from their sockets, I Repent. I don't believe in Hell but I wake up in it.
Today is the same day that it always has been. My yogurt isn't in the cabinet and I can't find the velcro cord ties that I swore were on the shelf yesterday. I could have sworn my yogurt was in the fridge the other yesterday last week.
This morning I'm on a boat and there are so many girls on this boat and I forget which bed I took the first night, so | accidentally sleep on someone else's bed and I feel dirty, filthy, and I want to scrub my skin off so there's nothing left. At night, my robot vacuum is doing its rounds and it knocks on my door and when I don't respond, it explodes, and Mike comes in to check on me, except none of that happened because the vacuum is still in the living room and Mike is still asleep, but he did leave some water on my nightstand so maybe it did happen.
When I close my eyes, I'm in a high school band inexplicably on the Oprah show, but I haven't played clarinet in so long that only squeaks come out and Oprah shames me and everyone laughs. I'm on the couch and Timothee Chalamet plays me like a lifeless little marionette and Kylie is surprisingly down to earth, and the next day as I'm walking out of my apartment he walks by with the director of Marty Supreme because they've just gotten lunch at the Greek spot next to our apartment. I do a double take and I know this is real because Mike follows the restaurant on Instagram and it's no wonder I can't distinguish fiction from reality anymore.
I work and I work and I work and I work and how do I explain that I'm living one long day and the reason I can't make the meeting is because of a personal emergency is because I physically can't open my eyes anymore and I don't remember but I work and I can't remember but I work and I can't bear being awake and I can't bear being asleep so I might as well just not even Be.