January 4 2020

“My journaling is unreliable,” I tell her.
‘What do you mean?” she smiles, bright, feels unperformative but am I naive?
“I mean my journals are as cryptic as my thoughts. I’ve been sketching trees again.”
“Are you keeping a food log?”
“No,” I say sharply.
I want to talk about the trees but decide to change the subject altogether.
“The power went out twice in four days on blocks around me.”
She nods, anticipating there is more. I am openly superstitious and am careful.
“I think it’s weird because there have been no storms and it’s only thirty five degrees.”
“Are you worried you’re power will go out?”
I shrug.
“I don’t know what I’m worried about. It’s just the only thing I noted in my journal so far.”
“It’s interesting to see what it is you write down, isn’t it?”
A man once called me perfunctory, flat. I think he’s right.
“I ate an entire carton of Oreo’s last night.”
That’s what she had been waiting for.

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