When she passed the bathroom upon waking up that morning to start a pot of coffee she realized very suddenly and very frightfully that all was not right in her home.
She saw briefly, at first, out of the corner of her eye, the figure of herself, within the bathroom, within the mirror, applying lipstick, and glancing at her real form standing in the hallway.
It was so shocking to her that she froze, she stood in terror in front of the bathroom and called for her dog. She had hoped that the legends about dogs sensing spirits were somewhat right, and that he would come and bark or growl it away or, more hopefully, do nothing at all and prove that she was seeing things.
The dog didn’t come and she didn’t move, yet she was moving, she was getting ready and she was looking rather annoyed at herself standing there staring. They both sighed and one continued applying the lipstick, the other continued to the coffee pot.
Her worst attribute was that she had this permanent unceasing sense of doom, as if the world had let her in on it’s little secret, it’s big expiration date, and forgot to tell everyone around her.
It terrified her, this perma-doom. It was almost as if she was scared of the scariest thing, but not much else. Which was great, and horrible, all at once.
She often thought about it, and really, what would you do, given the information that the world was going to end, or at least begin to end, in a small number of days?
It’s not as if you can go out and do everything you’ve wanted to do in life. You can’t create a family in that amount of time. You can’t enjoy a long marriage, even if you did decide to go get married to your sweetheart or stranger you’ve grabbed off the street.
Most importantly, you can’t convince the people around you that you are even remotely sane or right on the subject of sed days remaining, so there really and truly isn’t a whole hell of a lot you can actually do.
She had quit her job long before, she felt that the simple fact that nobody else was concerned about the fact that half of our adult lives are supposed to be spent in an office, away from your loved ones, was really outrageous. ‘Hippie’ was a term thrown at her a few too many times, especially when it came to quitting her job.
It’s not as if she didn’t care about other things, it’s just, she grew infatuated.
She knew it was never glorious becoming infatuated with something. Well, it was never glorious becoming infatuated with something negative. She, overall, however, became infatuated with practically everything she encountered: food, (flipside working out), boys (flipside girls), drugs (flipside addiction help groups), loved ones (flipside hated ones).
Most recently, and most obviously, she was infatuated with death (no flipside).
Before, however, she was infatuated with love. Infatuated with infatuation, you could say.
She was loved by many and loved many as well, in a very short period of time. She fell in love the most when she was 24, and she never really looked back and thought of any other love.
She oftentimes felt lovesad. You know, when you are deeply in love and you can make mountain sized problems out of molehills. Her relationship was fine, but she was constantly not fine with something about her relationship. She wanted more. She wanted less. She needed him. She needed him to change. She needed to change. You’ve felt this way right? No? Well have you been in love? Because it’s really important before you go on reading this book that you’ve been in love, otherwise you really won’t care about the rest. (But no, this really isn’t exactly a love story.)