the post grad

she moves the shelves three.two centimetres to the right, a sign of progression, she believes. the amount of years.2 she spent underlining ‘how to pool your life work into gridlines’, calculating how many yearsx7 she will spend in hell and highlighting the steps to ego death.

she removes zero.four centimetres of dust, a proud moment, as she expected a lot more before she started cleaning. she kept her windows open during the winter and a glass of water by her bed. a subconscious decision to not self sabotage.

she set her duvet one.one inches below her pillow because she feels like she deserves to breathe at night. she puts her underwear two.seven millimetres to the left and opens her cervix for two sets of three lines on her fingers. a reward for cleaning.

she sleeps for seven.five hours and stays in bed for another ten minutes contemplating whether she has enough kcal to achieve her goals. if she had finished her oats yesterday-breakfast, she may have had an additional twenty nine percent chance, upon her existing sixty one percent, to sift through her unopened letters to herself.

after two minutes of watching one man talk about the significance of light – and taking notes – she rested. she argued with 4 doubts. 1. is she good enough. 2. does she delete her essays. 3. is her heart made with/for gold (and how much gold) 4. will her children understand.

at eleven:fifty she takes a picture of her shelf, drinks five hundred millilitres of water and reads an article of the authenticity of counting sheep as she falls asleep.

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the post grad

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