Wednesday, July 1, 2009

The alarm continued its unrelenting bleat as she groped for the switch. Last week’s laundry, this week’s laundry, and tomorrow’s clothes, which had been fraternizing on the floor beneath her bed, tripped her as she stumbled her way towards the door. It didn’t matter, no one saw it. The mirror in the bathroom revealed that her hair had staged a coup overnight, and the makeup she’d been too lazy to remove had also artfully rearranged itself. Maybe that was glamorous. Maybe she looked like Courtney Love’s sad deranged cousin. Whatever.

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