Oooh pre-emptiveness.
Wrote this yesterday, parts came true sooner than expected. Oh. Yay.
“I feel mildly acidic. I just turned over a new leaf. Literally. It made me dirty, which was kinda the opposite of what I was going for…
“Hannah Norvell-Read feels like a drunken spirally yoyo attached to a curled, rusted, rotating metal wire…”
Maybe I’m going to spiral out of control. Maybe.
Maybe I’m going to twist myself up in my cord. And all the rust is going to rub onto my skin and it’s going to be very visible and ugly and no one’s going to want to play with me anymore.
Maybe I’ll fall off my chord entirely and smash onto the ground and crack open and be splintery splinters that catch in peoples’ delicate toes.
Maybe some lovely person is going to come along and gently caress my chord with a magic velvet cloth and then straighten said chord. After that they’ll re-engrave my sprials so that they look like gentle waves. Maybe.”
