I’m running an hour a day already.
I don’t know what to say then. I would have suggested exercise. I suppose you could do it more.
Yeah.
What about swimming? I find that really helps me out.
Okay.
Baths. Meditation. It’s hard at first but it gets easier.
I think I’ve reached the bath daily limit.

Forget the earth. I don’t know who for.

These aren’t medical suggestions. The only medical suggestion is medication.
Hmmm.
I think you’re too fragile for that right now. These are just some things that work for me.

I don’t want to yell at her. I want to bring her red bean rolls and glow-in-the-dark plastic dinosaurs. Last week I hallucinated stand-alone radiators popping out of ever puddle of light in the periphery. I was sure that the drinking water was poisoned. I kept buying bottles of juice and then decided that the water in juice was bad, too. I would have to keep hydrated in other ways. Through osmosis. A fresh water mountain well. Where are the cacti of my home?

Colorado, I want to cut off your spiny top and drink from you.
Colorado, can I scurry along your desert ridge at night– undead, eyes yellowed?
It’s my year after all: Year of the Rat.
You wouldn’t know it: at this rate.

And not only that, I also felt love, emanating from a stuffed elephant. That’s right. I silently enumerate them on my fingers. 1) Hallucination. 2) Paranoia. 3) Love.

NC used to collect those little stuffed things. She thought they were so cute. I thought we might as well throw them away. Now I take them out, line them up, pet them. I would get rid of them but they’re loving me. It would break their batting hearts.

What is the cute threshold?
Is it fuzziness?
I don’t know. Is a tennis ball cute?
I think it’s eyes.
A tennis ball would be cute if it had eyes.

She talked to her friend in a cab on the way uptown. I was against the window in a a black skirt and boots.

What do you think? She asked me.
Oh I couldn’t hear you guys. By which I meant: you never explain yourselves to me and it’s so often a test.

Later someone asked me about that skirt. I bought it on one of our first dates when my zipper broke at Urban Outfitters.

Why didn’t you just ask for a safety pin or a staple?

What and idiotic question.

Three times in six weeks I have had fevers at night. Once for four days. Then a week. I’ll let you know when this one ends.

It’s too painful to lay still. I complain that my breath is burning my lips.

What will I do with all of this? I ask her.
Why are you so attached to going to graduation? Maybe you shouldn’t go.
It occurs to me that I only want to go so that I can walk around kicking over mothers’ purses into the wet grass, accidentally knock over brothers when I turn too quickly, step on men’s feet.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I have too much resentment to graduate.

At a party, a week ago, I descended the stairs in lead of 6 butch dykes to find tens of white college boys lined up along the stairs. I was in sage sequins, high heels, rage.

Wow. Look at all these pricks.

I announced only for their benefit.
There was a muttering.

Of/to other cretins: perhaps, since you feel so perfectly capable of seduction, I will seduce you. It will be just like Hard Candy except I Really Will cut them off. I will be your very last lesbian, honey.

Colorado, let me spill his into a stringy masses on the plains. Opaque– I hope. Something wet to look at over the meadows. Or perhaps I’ll just wipe my hand clean, unceremoniously on a row of library books. Castrato al dente.

Colorado, I miss you, baby.

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