It was a ten day love song. It was my favorite fever.
I got up too early this morning. I read the internet for a while. I walked around the kitchen doing random things like tapping the grapefruit in the fruit bowl and looking in the refrigerator and opening all of the cupboards and not closing them. My kitchen constantly looks like that scene from The Sixth Sense where Haley Joe Osment tells his mother that he was looking for Pop-Tarts. I scrolled through my old picture posts. I do that so often, it has to be a mental defect. Whenever I think anyone might have been looking at my old picture posts, I compulsively look through them too. I was younger but fatter. I frequently think about which is more attractive, a leaner 30 year old me, or a fatter 23 year old me with higher tits, thicker hair, and fuller eye hollows. Today I will buy a piece of carry on luggage. Tomorrow I will fly to New York City and when the TSA agent's hands slide along my legs up to my crotch I will brush my lips against her ear and breathe into it while she parts my labial folds with her fingers, searching, always searching. I will get on that plane and meet the future, head on.
