Apparently

I told her to paint some of my nails and she did and a few days went by. I was biting them. The nail polish flaked and I tasted it and it was the same taste as when I was young and told girls to paint my nails. Familiar. I bit them until they were too short and my skin under them hurt and was raw. 

I had a show, my first in years, in two days and I hoped they would not be sore by then. Guitar is a real motherfucker with raw fingertips.

Two girls with the same name were sending me messages online. I was answering both, but was having trouble keeping up with who was who. One wasn't actually into me, and one might have been, but the shift in tone was disorienting and I kept trying to answer in one or two words and plain.

I was hungover and drinking to fix it. It usually worked. Not this morning. But I had a half a bottle of wine with me and I couldn't waste it.

Sat at my desk and staring at the clock. Nick Drake singing soft through my computer speakers.

A coffee cup of wine.

One leg thrown over the other.

My head in my hands.

"Did you see the M&M's?" Sacha asked.

"No."

"Peanut butter filled and peanut."

"Both?"

"Yep."

"Those are the two best kinds."

"I know. Looks like you're gonna fall off the wagon."

"It isn't even a question."

Sacha smiles and I drink from my coffee cup.

She deals with me all day and tries to give me advice and tells me the things I say to her I should say to my therapist but now I just pay my therapist to listen to lies. Being seen as good is more important to me than being better, apparently.

I drink from the coffee cup. In four hours I will be out of work.

I send a message to one of the girls and ask her if she wants to get lunch. She doesn't respond. I go without her.

I go home and I eat eggs and pour a fresh glass and another fresh glass and fill the coffee cup and after I go back to work. I don't sleep anymore. I don't dream anymore.

Apparently.