We watched Carrie (1976 version) while I was on my period and I’m really emotional right now and when her hand shot out of the ground, I realized that I may be in love with you.

I cry everyday now it seems, and it’s because my body is fucked up. Blood flows, crimson red, flows like the Jordan river, only instead of holding hope of the promised land it says “Ha-ha, fuck you” instead. I want to crimp up into a chunk of Pillsbury dough, and I want someone to eat me.

Day starts. I go to work. Watch documentary, social media usage, I am working.

Paid for nothing.

I get a weird feeling; a scary feeling and I feel someone pressing on chest like

I used to do to my father with children’s books to take his temperature.

Leave an hour early because nobody needs me.

I’m not well but still I want to see you at night.

Car. You.

Me. In your car.

Wine in a box.

Not very classy.

Carrie, mind powers.

Pink dress (hers). Covered in blood.

Pink underwear (mine). Covered in blood.

Who are they all going to laugh at?

Being woman. Sucks.

Care. You do not.

-“You know what I was thinking about earlier today?”

What? “I’m way happier now than I was six months ago.”

-Are you awake? “Yes baby.” Life would be so much more

convenient if I didn’t have arms.

-What are you thinking about? “Why did they make Carrie

pretty? It would be more believable if she was an uggo.”

-Carrie, you’re beautiful. “Goddamn it.” What’s wrong?

“Tommy John or whoever the fuck stole my line.

That’s my line for you. Baby.”

“I want to know what you’re thinking. D’you think Carrie could help with

that?” Shut up and stop talking, I want to watch the movie.

I know you are terrified of scary films, and when her hand shot out of the ground, you punched me in the face.

It was a reflex and it was the funniest thing that has ever happened. I laughed so hard that I peed myself and you laughed so hard that you cried.

We looked crazy and we were drunk, and you didn’t need me sexually because my presence was enough.

I...