There is no fox.
Trying to attend a meeting. But the elevator is difficult to use, and I keep ending up on the wrong floor, which is cavernous and completely empty.
[Unreadable] boyfriend who is not going anywhere. He wants me to engage with another woman with whom he wants to believe I have a real relationship. She’s tied up and kept at his place. He wants us to talk about the relationship, all aspects of it, in detail, while he listens. I play along for now until I can figure out what to do.
I shot things down the grid. He would receive them, only because he deserved them.
Black hairy mold grows out of the cracks in the walls. We trim it with scissors.
The wrong bus still gets us where we want to go—and faster, even.
The pregnancy was a surprise, and the birth painless. My new identity as “mother” seemed fraudulent. That’s why it was so easy to let them take her away for a few weeks. A few weeks turn into a few months. I ask for her back, but I’m afraid. Only E understands. She listens as I admit, sobbing, that I can’t remember her name. Even when I see it written on a piece of paper, I don’t know how to pronounce it.
Many, many trains run through the house, and all are different: where you catch them, how you enter them, and of course where they are going. He reminds me about the arrow of time, that we must and will forget.
S plays a dusty violin.
I’m walking along with a group of young women I don’t know well, feeling uncomfortable, until we come across a fireworks display. We take photos. Or, at least, I try to—they end while I’m still fiddling with the settings on my camera. Then we all start working together at the mall. But the job is only temporary for me, and when I leave I pretend I’m sad but I’m really not at all.