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This probably should have been a daylog but alas, I've already submitted one today.

Third day sick, and becoming terribly depressed. Circadian rhythms are becoming almost alien, I'm surrounded by mountains of crumply snot-rags, and taking on that lovely pallor of she who sees no sunlight, only the glow of a computer screen. Out of cigarettes, and have depleted my sister's secret stash as well.

Take another shower, head down in the hot flow, inhaling steam like zen comfort. I close my eyes and think of kissing. Try to remember the lyrics to When Doves Cry. Wonder where the mystery bruise came from. Decide to spend the rest of my life in the shower, and per Murphy's Law, the hot water runs out immediately. Nicotine withdrawal kicks in. Damn.

Squinting, blinded by the cold October sun, I realize I haven't been outdoors in days. Some fuse of life sparks in me, and I make a wrong turn on the way home. Intentionally. The cigarette tastes like my first, and suddenly I am coasting through my neighborhood, knowing I'm playing hooky from illness, not caring. I wave at leathery old men, sitting on their front porches, drinking cheap beer. They wave back. I discover a street named Otay and laugh out loud. A couple of grimy amateur mechanics look up from their mutilated cars long enough to whistle as I cruise by, and the feminist instinct lays dormant. I grin and honk. There's never been a day more beautiful.

I think I'm getting better.

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