Lately, you’ve been sleeping on the couch. Your dog can no longer get up the stairs, her arthritis is so bad. She likes sleeping on your feet. You like waking in the morning, sitting up on the edge of the bed and having to pause for a minute while you regain sensation in your toes. Those moments might be the greatest sense of peace you accomplish each day.
On the unfolded futon, you fall in and out of consciousness. The TV is on low. The voice of the failed film actor is just as loud as your dog’s snoring. The actor is selling knives. Now he is selling car wax. Now he is selling bathroom cleanser. You dream about combating the black mold and pink slime that have been slowly conquering your tub. You wish for the infomercials to send subliminal messages of desire. You plan to wake wanting these products, instead of those unattainable things you cannot even name.
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