The day all of the computers shut down in the office, only my third day in believe, and yet another blizzard, my new boss said to me
“I think you’re doing it.”
Which didn’t help anything. I would be sent home early for a computer malfunction or the weather or anything really. It didn’t matter. I was paid to walk to and from my house in the middle of a snowstorm. Mania gives you ideas; about thirty a second to be exact, and you can only execute a few at once.
I have a mirror and god in my pocket to find him.
I had a lot of notes like that. And like this:
Sylph storm song soul sign poultice moon poultice sky poultice air
And like this:
Picture book: main characters name is (redacted) book title my book is about my life and fantasy? The dreaming but tell it like it is, yes she fantasizes to survive and we see it play out, does she spiral?
I am sort of skipping home and sort of trudging, always stopping to write something down and now I have another idea for a business and
I write an entire business plan one day, the entire plot to a book the next, about seventeen impassioned letters to a man I don’t know, and then all the card readings. Sometimes I wink at the streetlight, start winking at the microwave. My oven timer is going off again. I go to my new job and the printer won’t start and the power goes out and I am blinking to send a bird to your window.
Dear God, another favor, I begin.
But first I have to take a bath. I take so many baths that winter.
Just drown yourself, Cat, the man with the crooked smile says.
I begin to will the wave. I stare at the drain, patiently. I will the ripple. I sit for forty minutes, shriveling in my skin, watching a candle flicker before I will the wave to move.
“I have another idea!”
I turn to the little girl sitting quietly on the edge of my bed and ask for favor.
“psychokinesis” or “the act of naming things”