(80) slipped through my dick fingers
Today was back to back adulting, and I’d been one task ahead each hour that disappeared, slippery and eager, into memory’s valise of hindsight. I rode triumphantly into my final hour of productivity, my steed a haloed noble cheer for Poseidon’s brilliance. I sat on my couch, my mind still and the air almost tolerable. I waited for the warm, deserved, calm to swarm my chest and eyes.
My stomach knotted in an agony I know too well. I curled to my side, and began t0 sweat. I tried to breathe with the pulsing of my gut, to slow the clenches and angry retorts it made at me. I sat up slowly, and felt my shirt cling to my sides in the salty watery deluge of pain riddled protest. I sipped water and focused on breathing and tried not to think of my calm minutes slipping away.
*Apparently lemon juice goes bad so maybe don’t noobie-style drench your salmon with it and fuck up your one shot at a quiet relaxing evening.