Soup Powder

Still, I have nothing to do, and everything in my fridge has expired. I had chocolate for breakfast, a single square of Lindt raspberry, and it stuck to the roof of my mouth. I hate chocolate. I hate having nothing to do. I just hate. I’m full of venom.

I found a pair of tights down the side of my dryer, a bright green pair, not my own. The funny thing is, I’m the only one who’s ever lived here. I bought this place new, moved in right away—and yet, foreign hosiery. One of my exes must’ve done a wash, or my mother, or…no. Those are the only options. Well, whoever it was, their tights are gone. I threw them off the balcony like an ape. They fell on the T&T sign and slowly slipped off.

(I hope no-one saw me. I could get fined, doing that. There’s fines here for everything—spitting, electronics in the pool area, not sorting your garbage. Petty stuff. Who cares?)

I took a nap between twelve and two, and I dreamt I shaved the skin off the backs of my arms. It made a mess, so I wrapped them in maxi pads. I was afraid someone might see, but I had one of those cardigans with the holes for your thumbs, and they hid the pads pretty well. (In real life, I hate those cardigans. They cover your hands, but they chafe. That webby bit’s sensitive. You can’t rub things on that. It’s like yoga pants up your junk. No.)

Oh, you know what? It snowed in the night, then it rained through the morning. Vancouver is covered in slush. Two steps out the door, and there’s mud in your shoes. Not on them. In them. There’s something about the damp in Vancouver; it doesn’t stay on the outsides of things. It seeps in through the stitching. It ruins your socks. It gets in your car and rusts out the…the…

(I don’t drive. I’ve never owned a car.)

…undercarriage?

What do you call that part where…like, if you can look between your feet and see the road rushing by, there’s a problem? The floor? Well, that’s what I’m talking about. That rusts.

My old place used to leak, but it had holes in the walls. You can’t have holes in the walls and not get the weather in. Spiders, too. I stopped even bothering with those. I’d shoo them at first, sweep them out the door, but more just came in, or maybe the same ones. I’d say hi to them sometimes, the corner spider, the cupboard spider, the toaster spider. One time, my computer broke, and it was all full of moths…just a whole iMac, wall-to-wall moths.

It gets humid in here, but not wet, except the balcony. That gets wet. I have this theory, I could stick plants out there and never water them, and they’d be okay. It’s more than a theory. I have an empty planter, and Mother filled it with dirt, and last spring, something grew in it. It was a…very small daisy with a long, skinny stem? I mean, not a daisy, obviously, but that’s what it looked like. Anyway, that stayed all summer, and then it turned brown, but it’s still sort of alive. Waiting for next year. I didn’t water that.

I’m having one of those days where I feel hungry and sick at the same time, which is the most irritating feeling in the world. If I had work to do, I wouldn’t have to think about it.

Why don’t I have work to do?

Has something gone wrong?

Has my editor died?

I should ask someone. I don’t want to be a noodge. I’m on my first project with a new publisher. It doesn’t do to make waves.

…I might try a cup of soup. Is it worth it, though? Is there any nutritional content to that? I’m talking about those freeze-dried soup powders, and you add boiling water, and the last sip’s always undissolved powder….. Do those count as food?

Does this count as living?

Oh, melodrama.

Here’s a fuzzy bat. I don’t know how many toes they have. Did I guess right?

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