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happy monopoly mermaid monday thursday

I keep waking up in different beds and in this same body. I have to say this right away so you know it didn't start with limbs slackened, hair oily, a cruelty towards the sun. It started in the backseat of Jessica's Pepto-dismal truck. She tied my hair back with rubber bands when the freeway passed clean through us. Jessica says I can feel like a cherry blossom tree wobbling under lightning. Jessica has a forehead scar from the deep end of a pool. I ask Jessica what drowning feels like and she says not everything feels like something else. That night we lose the 7/11 lottery but I draw my lucky number, no quarters so we scratch our tickets with fingernails. Jessica says that's the sanctity of ritual—  a ceaselessness in how I look at every drop of rain before it touches ground, the way Jessica mouths my name in her sleep eating each syllable like a minor god. I'm coming out as someone who loves things unevenly, my theologies strewn out in the dark, this iPhone an almost oracle. Jessica forces me to watch every sunset even when I am full. She puts her fingers in my mouth and says open your eyes. Open them. You see the small-town girls on big billboards? One day that's us.

This year, I will walk around my house in my underwear blasting T. Swift & I will not give a single fuck who sees me.

This year, I resolve, I will eat some sort of sandwich in the bathtub while drinking a goddamn bottle of fancy-ass wine.

This year I probably won’t get a better job, but I will talk about needing a better job,

and you might think I haven’t planned this out very well. But it is hard to set goals for yourself when the most difficult thing you can imagine is continuing to exist inside this body,

which is to say, last year I poured myself out sacrificial and prayed for any sort of miracle, which is to say, last year, I learned just how many ways you can kill yourself daily while still waking up the next morning,

I have been a silent opera, all open mouth quiet screaming, am I supposed to be grateful to have survived this?

Do you really think Lazarus wasn’t angry when they opened up his tomb?

Do you really think you can come back without bringing hell with you?