Last year, I started wearing perfume oil to bed.
Last year, I was living in a tiny studio in the backyard of my childhood home. I was swimming every single day. It was before the ceaseless rains set in and the whole backyard turned to mud. It was the first Christmas break I’d ever really taken. It was the first time my skin changed from see through, almost blue, to a weak latte cream.
Last year I started eating meat and eggs and fish and dairy. I started putting butter on everything. I got really good at making coffee. Usually I had it black. Occasionally I had it with sugar and cream. Something I had never dreamed of before.
Last year I unfollowed instagram accounts celebrating healthy eating, and focused on infusing my subconscious in that scary, hypnotic, deep scroll state with people who inspired me to celebrate
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