„You will not give up, yet“, a friend of mine tells me whenever I am really mad at the universe. „You have too much fighting energy left.“ And I tell him about being ready to dig my own grave for one last kiss. „Okay, I will not give up on you, little one“, he corrects himself.
That is when my witch giggles. „At least you have someone left to call you little one.“
Yes, I do. Only a few kilometers away, but of reach, and my thoughts start to spiral into cursing the post social age I have to live in. These thoughts are to be stopped right now, because otherwise they will attack and converse everything that is left in my head. But stopping spiraling thoughts when the whole life is taking place at the exact same screen is not easy and my fury grows.
Fury, because the evening walks that used to save the last bits of my sanity are about to be forbidden and I can already feel a headache taking over me.
Staring at the same screen as always, a decision is made, and so I order new boots.
Boots to run from the police and scream „Fuck the curfew.“ They will be my „Fuck-the-curfew“-boots.
Seriously, I need my evening walks. I work and study until 6 PM and need to walk out onto a field for a little while to separate the two parts of my days and help me sleep at all. But I guess, in the post-social age we don‘t deserve a headache-free time, anymore.
I can‘t wait for my 200€ Fuck-the-curfew-boots to arrive. I could have eaten healthy for a month, but no. Boots!
You need fancy boots to run from misogynistic Nazi the police!
By the way, I am not usually like this. This is a dystopian brain melt and I really can‘t help it.
„Yes, I have someone left to call me little one“, I say to Layla. „But he is not the one owning my g-spot. That one is gone.“
Still, between throwing money out the window, being the nightmare of an overwhelmed local police, and in general a brain melted mess, I am so thankful for this kind of friendship despite it being the post-social age.
Mistress witch writes 