before i leave

reading about corrective surgery makes me nauseous

i am afraid to go, but i am more afraid that i am dying. If i am i don't want to spend my last little bit of time sitting alone in the backyard staring at concrete walls or making life harder than it needs to be for my mom.

the past few weeks i have really been practicing smiling. it keeps people happier, they like me more. except bug. i love her so much for that, for wanting me to be honest.

the glow of the computer highlights the scars if i take off my gloves. my phantom of the opera hand types.

anesthesia on Monday.

just push through the fear, push through the fear.

as usual i'm awake too late. to get 'socialization' tomorrow i need to be up at 5:30. if i try to sleep before i'm exhausted or medicated i just lie in bed thinking. just now it was she would have dragged me to death, dragged me to death, dragged me to death. maybe at some point my backpack strap would have broken and my legs would have flown out into traffic, maybe after my torso and stomach and face had been ground into hamburger so thin it would have fried to the pavement before anyone would notice the trail. Maybe nobody would have found me until she parked the bus, until she slowed down long enough for someone to notice the blood and mangled flesh behind her. i see it. there were no brakes, she wasn't slowing down. she would have dragged me to death. dragged me to death. dragged me to death. i can't sleep, and tomorrow if i'm too tired to get up and socialize i am afraid that like most days, i will feel inadequate. Heartburn, sharp pain in my stomach. This new life, watching my phantom of the opera hand type. I'm going to find pepto, maybe sit outside with my plants for a while.

Today was one of those days when you wake up calling for your mother and find yourself alone. I imagine that must be a part of life for everyone.