And in the mornings now, my deodorant is cold. Getting up in the mornings now, painful, no routine. Five more minutes, ten more minutes, forgetting the plans of the night before. Hard to remember to get up early and do a load of laundry when there’s investment in my dreams. Five more minutes, narrative progression, I’m about to be kissed.

WordPress refuses to see my name as a proper noun. Little red squiggle underneath.

I like my deodorant. It smells like tomato vine. I like breakfast. I love breakfast. Been making pancakes, and getting close to something like the platonic ideal. I like coffee, even though the quality of the stuff I buy is shit, probably made by exploited children.

No gun to head to get me up, but pointed backwards, keeping me down.

I took my car to the mechanic. Boyfriend said my brakes were going, and his cousin said the same. Driving back, road trip, mountain passes. Three months later, but I took it in.

I drop off my car in the morning. There’s an old man at the counter, the customer side. He’s boiler suit, red hair, chatting with the secretary. I make small talk, I don’t remember what, but it ends with his smile. “You’re so sweet,” he says, and gives me a hug. It’s before nine am. I walk home through two construction zones and wait for them to call.

Six hours later, and the mechanic still hasn’t called. They close in an hour. It’s a twenty minute walk. I reach out, and she answers halfway through my leaving a voice mail. Repeating the same thing again – Hey, um, what’s up with my car?

“Oh, I thought I already spoke to you.”

“Not yet.”

“Well can you come get your car soon? There’s nothing wrong.”

Half life on my brake pads, and everything is fine. An adjustment to the back ones. I don’t ask what that means. It’s $90, and they work well enough.

A Saint Bernard besides the secretary. He comes up on his hind legs and sets his big head on the counter. I want to ride him. The mechanic steps out of the car zone when he sees me. He was also in the office in the morning.

“Hey, uh, I just wanted to say sorry that that guy hugged you? What was that. He doesn’t work here. Why would he do that. We’ve been talking about it all day.”

“Somebody Hugged you?” A woman asks from where she’s sitting, waiting for her car to be done.

“I stopped going to my church because the pastor said I had to hug everyone, some people are like that,” the secretary chimes in.

“What!” And she gives us the gossip. Her husband thinks the pastor is right. I have a wonderful time.

I’ve started school again since then. I drive my car to a third party location, and then take a bus to campus. I sit in a classroom with four pillars in the middle, that you just have to lean around. I’m dry skin caught on microfiber fabric. This life is poorly designed.

It’s better than the alternative. I’m gonna keep getting up in the mornings. I’ll buy better coffee, to try and make it easier. Pour over, maybe. Moka pot. Something slow.

I’m gonna keep having a good time.