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Rackers

unfinished.

It’s Friday night. 8.48pm.

I have turned down two invitations to go for drinks and, you know, have a good time.

I have taken my pants off. But not yet my makeup, because it looks really good today and I am not yet emotionally ready to part with it.

I’m sitting under my doona. Doona, not duvet, because Australia.

I have a half-drunk, luke-warm cup of coffee on my bedside table.

I ate a lemon meringue tart for dinner, with a side of skittles. I’ll be treating myself to onion rings for dessert, and possibly a banana. (Diet of champions).

I just had my twentieth existential crisis in four weeks. I looked at my reflection and my reflection looked back at me. I am a person. A real, live person. I stretched out my arm, and my arm stretched out in front of me. Weird, right?

Was my coffee laced with something?

By rackers

26 year old writer and artist, just trying to find her way through the world with words.

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