Tomorrow, tomorrow the epic journey begins. James kindly sends me a website for sleeping in airports. It's surprisingly useful.

My production coordinator, my friend, Nina drops by. Her boyfriend waits in the car, doesn't come out, doesn't say hello. She clings to my neck, hard. I squeeze her ribs. I don't want to say goodbye.

She presses a small, neatly wrapped package in my hands, and waves a hundred times goodbye.

I open it when I have closed the door. It's a small printed book of all the horrible selfies I have taken on other people's phones. Plus a picture of a dead rat from the Terrible Rat Infestation. I makes me laugh and cry.

I text her. I tell her it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.

I book a taxi to the airport. Sixty pounds. It makes me sweat, the price, but takes away so much anxiety.

My mouth tastes like wine and disappointment.

I dream of my new car, the little silver hatchback. I dream of the next art projects, of driving my car, of going where ever I like and never being told not to. I dream of tools and tool boxes and summer dresses made from the silk saris I bought and stored.

Every step I take and every decision I make I can feel an infinite number of alternate universes come crashing down at my feet. I worry that I am always choosing the worst one.

Tomorrow, tomorrow. I will not sleep.

.

Rosie

Before&After