aftermath

I am sitting in my favorite coffee shop, letting my hair air-dry and finally getting some work done.


“It was all very well to say, ‘Drink me,’ but the wise little Alice was not going to do that in a hurry. ‘No, I’ll look first,’ she said, ‘and see whether it’s marked ‘poison’ or not’: for she had read several nice little stories about children who had got burnt, and eaten up by wild beasts and other unpleasant things, all because they would not remember the simple rules their friends had taught them: such as, that a red-hot poker will burn you if you hold it too long; and that, if you cut your finger very deeply with a knife, it usually bleeds; and she had never forgotten that, if you drink much from a bottle marked ‘poison,’ it is almost certain to disagree with you, sooner or later.


I feel like Alice. Instead of “poison,” my bottles are marked “drama,” but what do I do? Smile, lift the glass, and say, “Bottoms up.”


“But I’m not a serpent, I tell you!” said Alice. “I’m a –I’m a—“

“Well! What are you?” said the Pigeon. “I can see you’re trying to invent something!”

“I–I’m a little girl,” said Alice, rather doubtfully, as she remembered the number of changes she had gone through, that day.


Today, I feel less like a girl and more like a serpent. Time to stick out my pink forked-tongue and slither.

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