New apartment. New bathtub.

The old one was mustard yellow. Somebody had stopped the overflow drain with caulking so you could fill at as high as you wanted.

This one was not like that.

My breasts are not submerged. I cannot even pretend they are. They flatten on the surface like the bellies of dead whales, spreading, doughy, and head towards my armpits to hide. I tuck my elbows in, to stop their migration, but it's not comfortable.

Blueberries bob in my gin and soda. They knock against each other, lose carbonated bubbles, drop, gain more bubbles, rise again, knock bubbles off, ad-nauseum.

I just drink the fucking gin. It tastes like lemon peels and juniper and sin, because I stole it from my roommate.

I'm not sorry.

There are mountains outside, somewhere. I take comfort in that. I take comfort in the fact that I believe I can run away to the hills, if shit really goes wrong.

When I was a kid I had this dream that I would cross the mountain and build a little self sustaining homestead in which I would live. If you live there for a certain period of time without being discovered and evicted, the land is essentially yours.

I dreamed I would live in a little valley, near a stream, in a log cabin. I would hunt, and farm a little, and catch fish in the stream.

The walls here are all white. Somebody didn't prime them well, because looking at them sideways scratches them to the cream paint underneath.

Somebody once told me that your twenties needed to be full of shitty apartments.

Kinda sucks. Not gonna lie.

I wish my bathtub was deeper.

Before&After