All of a sudden I am thirty something
My head is suffocating from the adderall I took fourteen hours ago and I regret calling him.
I told myself today, pacing around a dirty bar I spent an hour and a half trying to make look clean, that I would not drink. I clocked in at 10am and had my first shot at 11:30. It wasn't the addictive environment or because I felt I needed it - it was my useless boredom that spoke louder than my discipline. I spent the rest of my shift taking full shots for empty reasons trying to make myself sound as if I was a liberated role model when I am a kind-of-broke college student making extra cash at a bar that doesn't even tax me.
After my third shot I was reminded of the word hesellic by my favorite eighty four year old who is an all knowing figure to me. I love the word hesellic because it paints a fictional picture of what I expect holidays to be at the end of the year. Dark and cozy with flames to warm every edge of the setting that houses itself in my mind when I need it. The woman who taught me the word is more comforting than the word itself.
I broke up with my boyfriend after I lost my baby and she told me "how can you be sad when I am happy for you". It wasn't condescending, simply honest - heartwarming to know there was no tip toeing around my twenty four year old woman despair. A woman that has lived multiples of my life is happy that things didn't work out for me. And my despair was not my own, but the despair of most woman who have unprotected sex and a complicated relationships with love. That made me happy.
At 4:30pm I had my first bump of coke, thinking it would make me feel more ready to serve others when it just made me hate myself. What is better than one upper? Maybe two.
The line cook fed me bumps from his silver plated house key until an hour after my shift was supposed to end and I couldn't help but try to make conversation with a woman ten years older than me who also didn't seem to respect herself too much.
The advice I was voluntarily gifting her was nothing of what the eighty four year old had to offer just earlier that day. The sun went down and I morphed into the most indigent version of myself who wanted to call him hoping we would have sex. What was easier than being myself - putting on the suit of a woman in her mid thirties who just received awful advice from a twenty something year old who would rather do drugs than look in the mirror for longer than ten seconds.
I could try to look at my reflection for possibly fifteen seconds but then the beauty that I hope to have is swept away by what I really look like.
Anyways, I cut open the white woman who thought she heard the most original female empowering sentences crafted specifically for her. I got them from someone else. I started at the tip of her thumb and sliced between each finger and down her forearm, then past her shoulder came her neck. She sat on the green barstools, too busy opening her mouth for the man next to her to notice my knife. I cut her as if we were seven years old tracing our pretend dead bodies in yellow chalk on the sidewalk before the streetlights turned on and we had to go home. I finally made it back to the tip of her thumb in one precise incision. Her ass stayed sitting on the chair while her frontal fell forward onto the ground. I stepped inside and picked up her front half preparing to zip the sides of her skin to make her fit perfectly. I wasn't me anymore, I was her. Because I was her - it was okay to call him.
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It's the next morning and I am me again - not without residual blood on my arms and bedsheets that provided an excruciating night of sleep.