Reality.

It has been a long day.

You sell a few boxes of contacts over the course of your shift, but that’s not enough to make the time go by any faster.  The clock ticks away, inching closer and closer to quitting time.  You sit at your desk, almost draped over it, exasperated and waiting for the day to end.

A familiar face enters and she looks just as you remember her.  You once regarded each other as sisters, and those feelings of affection quickly rise to the surface upon her reentry into your workplace and into your life.  There’s a hug, long and comfortable.  You ask each other questions about what the other has been up to.  Before you know it, it’s time to close up shop and head home.  She asks you to accompany her to the bar you used to frequent.  You agree.

Continue reading “Reality.”

Under Covers, A Playlist.

5. “Ne Me Quitte Pas” by Nina Simone (Jacques Brel cover)

Since quitting drinking, Ambien is the only thing that can lull you to sleep.  Quick, effective, and less of a hangover in the morning.  You decide that both your brain and body feel better and you go with it.  While you’ve been making a conscious effort to walk along a straight and narrow path, you can justify replacing drugs and alcohol with pharmaceuticals.

The Ambien does, you notice, effect your dreams, and each dream is intense, vivid, and bizarre.  Last night’s dream was no exception.

In the dream, you lit a post-coital smoke while next to The Ex in the bed you shared together.  Naked, awash in afterglow, you lied on your back, taking long drags of a Parliament Light 100, the signature brand of the ex before The Ex, He Who Shall Not Be Named.  It was a vivid dream.  You could see the smoke swirling above you, forming familiar shapes.  For a moment, they were like cloud forms.  You took another drag and exhaled deeply towards the sky again. The Ex was lying next to you on his stomach, head turned to the side, watching you smoke.  His face was neutral, not disgusted, as if he was looking past the cigarette and at you, deep into you.  You’re not cuddling, but your bodies are pressed against one another’s. The cold, sweaty clamminess of his skin feels too real.

Continue reading “Under Covers, A Playlist.”