My body is crumbling. I can barely walk a half hour. I can barely stand, barely, barely, anything, at all. But mentally I’m fine, physically I’m a dilapidated house. Is this what aging is like? I’ve experienced the internal, metaphysical aging, and now it is time for the rest. Am I developing that illness where you age rapidly? Is this another form of it? Perhaps. Maybe it’s just my old friend sneaking back, draining me. Nirvana, Drain You, great song. Maybe life is an infection. No no no, none of these thoughts.

– A few hours later. At home. Couldn’t last until the party. Walking helps. What will become of me? Pity is useless, nevermind self-pity. I’m taking the train across the country in a weeks time. What?! How is this possible. How is life coming at me so fast? How, what, why… I just had a bubble bath on a Saturday evening. I am smelling of strawberry body lotion. Everything will be fine.

This is false comfort. Are my upstairs neighbours fucking crazy? This loud? They do this on weekdays too. I am unable to lurk in unhappiness in a healthy way. There is a way to do so, but I am not sure how to just feel without letting it take over the world. Time to draw Tarot cards and go to bed. Uh. Comfort, anywhere. Tarot cards. Better than heroin.

About Victoria Valerie

A woman who remembers enjoying writing.
Aside | This entry was posted in Non-Fiction. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to Crumbling.

  1. …yup! except we’re not 40…

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