Journal # 11.02.16

She wore a suit to the convention, she always wore suits nowadays even if she was walking the mojave desert barefoot. Something inside her had switched, proprioceptively, and all those free spirits baring skin through broken fabrics she once identified with, no longer appealed to her sense of herself. She even began to part her hair definitely and not in one place all the time, but it was a true part - i mean linear - so anyone could follow the line to its natural conclusion, wherever it happened to run that day. The change was neither accidental nor superficial. A vertical adjustment in the makeup of her personality took the horizontal carelessly. Like if you had a birthday party on the ninth moon of Jupiter, and you only served monochrome helium balloons with astronaut ice cream.

vitamin k

swan dive off the cufflinks

I'm afraid my cells are not getting enough oxygen but it would take all day and night to try and care for them all, and I would provide 1:1 cellular counseling if I could and send them out whole again. Needy little invertebrates wanna be loved squishy. Just like anyone. I would but I gotta go shopping for a nice suit, Boss julara wool and some fancy matte black flats will do, so I can hit the highway with confidence for the conference next month, and I better find a hairstyle for once in my life. Disheveled cave girl is getting old. LD running and matcha green tea are the only way to comfort the millions of cells facing suffocation. At least they will go out circular smiling, swan diving off the cufflinks.