It's hard to imagine.
Being where I should belong. August. California.
Right now it's a hail storm on the inside.
It's a nonstop "whatthefuck" fest in my body.
Everything is a chain reaction. A pinball machine. And the lights flare and the bells ding and I am sore and down on quarters.
I'm finally in bed. I haven't slept more than 2 hours at a time in days. I wake up yelling, my face stuck to the pillow, everything kicked off my bed in a thrash of pain.
I am the opposite of sexy and mysterious. I am a vulnerable shell right now. I won't tell any Tinder dates my last name.
Shit. They'll probably have to find out. Maybe next week I'll be okay to be me again.
The medicines have me bouncing. I'm up all day with Sadie, she barely sleeps, she's feverish. I'm splitting a beer with Ashley as we watch Sadie in her baby pool. I'm swimming next door, head under water, the only quiet I can ever find has been underwater.
I'm here. Back in the apartment. I take the medicine. The reaction occurs. The marble drops and the bad metaphors churn themselves out. Benadryl. Shit. It's 5:30 on Wednesday and the doctors say "come back."
I'm going to keep this all here. The unedited messy, druggy, hazy ramblings. They are stock photos. I will zoom in later to find more.