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She tosses and turns most the nights now. She usually hits the hay an hour after the sun does. There's nothing but empty lonely poor YouTube nights and maybe the cat to castigate her. Well, she does actually have the criterion channel and MGM+ yet she'll probably give that up after the Winter King and all the small cuts compound.
She's laying in her bed at five ante meridian and swimming in the shame and possibilities to get out of this self-made jail. She's still confused at why Georgia is her move when it just gets her close but no cigar to her real goal: therapist in a barn in NC. She's confused at when she thinks she's going to live her dream? when does she think it will be handed to her on a silver platter again? So she has two things in the "con" column: FEAR! and money. So, she uses a childlike and ridiculous thing she got from the first therapist she ever paid for with her own big girl money: she asks the universe for a sign.
She doesn't know what sort of sign. First she thinks: if he writes me back. then she knows that's impossible, so she ponders maybe if jimmy Carter died in the night that would be a sign. Then she said "well, maybe bunny." She didn't know why but sure.
So the day of stress and confusion loneliness searing poverty and she decides "screw it, I'm going to try to join only fans and use that with my eBay and make $200..." so, she has to upload some fucking (no pun intended or maybe I did) face photos on desperate instagram and vomits internally.
She notes Schaeffer the Dark Lord STD has done a post. She reads an anniversary ten year homage to his lover whose screen name is bunny.
is that my sign? she never knows, yet always feels.
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