#but then i woke up at like 8am to my cat doing some bullshit and the headache was still there but like more prominent?

[bo0zey]

good morning y’all regrettably it seems that i have woken up against my will ONCE AGAIN……..

[lauvra]

Got into bed around 4AM, birds stirring and swirling blue hues of dawn; all that romantic single-digit fingering daylight then sniffing it bullshit. Woke well rested around 8AM. Up. Immediately showered to go buy cat biscuits and kick around Brunny some. [I notice a man with dreadlocks carting belongings dumped into a milk crate from his parked car. He looks over. I look away then pass another—glance at my phone feigning attention to some distant object of contempt.] My housemate and his partner have nested in the living room the past week nursing Covid and I've spent most of that time wide awake right here in my shed painting and writing. I feel a little guilty that I've not caught ill, since they're the two sweetest humans on Earth and I'm... this. The SmokeFree app congratulated my $431.26 saved over a fortnight not doing the bad thing. That's shocking to non-smokers or those located outside Australia, but may actually be a conservative estimate. I craved nicotine all day and night yesterday but took a long walk and bought some paint supplies instead with some credit due to my kid brother on the same journey. Sunday, Monday and Tuesday were spent wide awake wringing productivity from my good health for all it was worth—thinking, any minute I'd feel an esophageal sting or raised fever. Whether you think God's a good idea at all, keep the relationship private and/or think organised religion's the cornerstone of community or objectively the biggest reason we kill and will forever doesn't matter, when it comes to the impact of positive affirmations and the style of thoughts we pull through the maelstrom and muck of our mind through truly earnest prayer, at least for me, "God" is a powerful, effective engine for when I'm otherwise unmovable. Which I must remember once granted these things begged for from my knees. [I keep my eyes down in the coffee shop. Every figure in my periphery is decidedly handsome. I do not smile in the book store either. I want to fall in love.] I think I am ovulating, the other day a man wearing the suicide-vest of a squealing infant danced up and down the aisle to soothe the beautiful new human and involuntarily I smiled and looked over at another eligible candidate smiling at me then back at the scene. [I felt like if I pulled the "you wanna?" face, it could be just that easy. I stared out the window and did not look when he disembarked.] In Brunswick Bound, I found Marina Abramovic: A Visual Biography for $175, felt the pang of want and regret over entering. Of 600 pages, I glance at two. The thing's perfect. It's known: I will come to possess this book—already possessed by it. Another thing. This morning, Mary Oliver happened in my dreams, quietly, which I only remembered seeing her name propped up. In turning the cover, the reading made me smile. "I go down to the shore in the morning and depending on the hour the waves are rolling in or moving out, and I say, oh, I am miserable, what shall— what should I do? And the sea says in its lovely voice: Excuse me, I have work to do." — A Thousand Mornings: Poems by Mary Oliver

Leaving Mary O. by the ocean 'til she's ready to return with some gumption, I leave with the additional weight of three prioritised titles: The Chandelier by Clarice Lispector, Wrong Norma by Anne Carson and The Complete Haiku of Matsuo Bashō. Haiku was a recent topic in my writing course and I've fallen behind—it's typical of me to flake on things, and it's no great indication of my character but at least it's a great indication of my character. When I saw the book's spine and the deconstruction of the poetry inside, the book became my device—to stay the course of my navigation star even if paddling in the ocean alone for a while longer, hearing the distant near-breathless call from community, or Mary. I flicked through the discounted books outside Brunswick Second Hand and noticed The Road by McCarthy, bought it wondering whether I was benefitting financially from him being a bastard. I did not feel guilty then or later while finalising my order: Marina's Visual Biography on Amazon for $44. What else, God, I bought masking fluid and rubber cement to accompany its cleanup to keep painting interesting to me—the pumice stone texture paste I loved and used for the Baptism project is no longer sold so poop poo and blah. Also got some Gauche. IDK. I wish I could blend books into a smoothie and drink them. Dinner with friends later!!!!!! I'm sure to frown at and quietly romanticise more men tonight. I'm only a girl.