The House Fried Rice of Choice Overload

Today is my day.
I can do with it whatever I choose.
I can have a beer for breakfast.
Today is my bitch.
I can listen to some social media therapists on how to keep myself calm with coping strategies.
Wear purple fishnets and citrus face scrub all day long without bothering to wash it off, put on pants or comb my hair.
Today is mine.
I can delete, download, delete again and redownload and then redelete dating apps all afternoon.
I can make a To Do List of crimes that I would commit if I were braver just to ignore it.
Listen to Mereba and Arlo Parks and songs from Les Miserables.
Sweep dead skin off the sofa and onto the floor.
Today is my only day.
I can wonder about love and keeping in touch with loved ones and giving all of it up and becoming a hag hermit and cry about the fact that I only ever give myself two options; drowning or suffocating.
I can assess the areas where I have privilege and reconsider how I’m utilizing it within the walls of these hours I own while my eyes are open.
Today belongs to me.

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