I’m thinking of recharged batteries. As I paint each foot of my office wall, I slowly come back to life. The color and shapes remind me of myself. The design is abstract, but to me it’s simply a self portrait of an engineer’s daughter-with geometry.

I’m thinking of a photograph of rogue sails. In the hall of my roommate’s bands show, I feel tethered only to the beer I’m holding until Ian shows up. In my head I’m a slow moving car crash, but I smile like I’m a commercial. I drink my beer slowly like I used to drink my bottle of water, waiting for my dad to come and pick me up after school when I was a kid. I was always the last one waiting. He sometimes forgot me. My friend’s synth makes the heat rise as the van pulls up to the curb.

I’m thinking in targets. My genius comes in short profound bursts, but it’s curtailed by my eye for the mistakes. I sit in my own flaws like a killer sits in prison waiting for his sentence. It’s comfortable and unsettling at the same time.

I’m kind of sick of the voice inside my head telling me to write things, and feel things, and think things, but do nothing. I’ve become addicted to this fear of drowning, but I don’t want to talk about it.


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