I brushed my teeth but I never took off my eye-liner. In the morning I look like a rockstar. I don’t feel like one. Noon just rattled by. It’s strange to see the day spying through the shades.
Yesterday I went for an afternoon coffee.
‘When was the last time you were out during the day?’ she asked.
I didn’t know.
I actually have no idea.
I like to fester in bed all day. If I turn the lights on I will be able to see yesterday’s half-finished drink. The clean clothes on the floor. The ashtrays brimming with cigarette corpses.
In bed I can feel like Lennon and Yoko in one. What am I protesting? Productivity.
‘What are you doing?’
This is what I always say. It’s true. I say it because it’s true.
I don’t feel good today. Going to bed at eight in the morning for a dozen days in a row will do that to you.
‘Sixty-five minus three. Just in case you lost count.’
Thanks Mom and Dad. Thanks for keeping tabs on the number of nights I’ve been out since June was born.
‘You don’t eat.’
‘You’re eating again?’
Make up your minds.
I do. I make-up my mind all the time. I paint it scarlet when I am angry so I can spit.out.words and leave lipstick marks on their collars. I use blusher to get what I want: Please? I’m just a little girl. There is mascara on my soul; thicker curtains for these windows. And I like to colour nails too. So that when I scratch my disappointment down their backs, I leave a rainbow of frustration.
I don’t feel good today. But at least I look good. In a few hours the sun will dim and I will be able to brave the world with my painted warrior mind. I am a vampire: shielding my eyes, shrieking in the light.
Then again, maybe I’ll just stay on this island. I can do this for a while longer: keep ignoring the waves of life scattered around the room, the seagull cries of my family, the shore of reality… and smoke for breakfast instead.