There was a fuzzy feeling in my throat when I woke up this morning. Very odd. After I put on my eyeliner (one-one-two strokes, to make it even on top and a whip upwards at the edge) I drank half a bottle of water. The fuzzy feeling remained, but I put on my sweater and got in my car anyway.
Halfway to my destination, the feeling stopped. Sometimes I don’t remember what it’s like to really breathe until I’m allowed to do it. I ran a yellow-now-red light, because there were no cops around.
At 10:17am, three minutes after I had stepped away from my computer, I remembered the dream I had last night, and I got the fuzzy feeling again. It lingered like a blanket you stuff in your mouth to keep from crying too loudly. It moved on my tongue like a Halls that’s supposed to numb the pain but only distracts from it.
There are days when the doors don’t open for me, even if it’s not very often, and I move about pretending to fit in with the other millions. If they all have cotton in their throats, then maybe we can collectively pretend it’s insulation for our vocal chords and not worry about the ticking that follows closely behind.
finding mango 