Please God, provide us with more shadow territory. Just let me live, I say, looking into the eyes of my lord and savior, unless he’s already dead, curled up on a park bench somewhere, cooking in the desert heat.

I pull another popular kid from my switchboard, unfollowing for the sake of my sanity. It’s the best thing for me right now. My therapist didn’t recommend it, but she doesn’t know. All I know is that I don’t need people in my life that I can no longer stand.

I would like for them to leave me alone on this, my new holiday. I’m still the enemy that I have always been, but I’m not a failure. I’m simply over all the skinwalkers. I don’t want to be cordial. I’ve got too much that is already dragging at my attention, pop-ups jumping into my awareness, reminding me of something that I’d rather have forgotten. Personally, I don’t understand how they can get away with it.

What do you mean, asks my assistant. We’re talking about the same website, aren’t we?

Webcamwhores

They broadcast recorded cam girl sessions. What can I say? If it’s not in the deep web, how bad can it be, we being never safe, even in the bright daylight of our audacious public. Someone’s always ready on the willing to wag a knife in your face. Whether they’ve picked your pocket or truly rattled your bones is yet to be seen. My unborn baby, her one leg still in front of her face, is in the seventeenth percentile. She was in the twenty ninth last we checked.

It’s all okay, says the student. The doctor says it’s fine.

Musette is wiping warming gel from her pants. I’m doing my best to resist rejection.

Musette’s phone rings. It’s the obgyn. She’s too groggy to answer. It was a hundred degrees today. Don’t hold it against her.

I came closer to hitting my max than I ever have, she says.

The ob wants to talk about the ultrasound. We aren’t going to see her anymore. We’ve got midwives in our future. The ob is the one who set up the appointment though, so she’s the one who gets the results. Her voicemail is like, call me when you’re off. The numbers are alarming. They’re different than what we’ve been hearing. If they’re correct, it means our baby has stopped growing.

My mom is asking me to remember what happened with me. She’s nervous about the midwives. She wants to be sure that we can get a doctor in the room if we need one. I’m churning through karma. It’s important for me to realize how insensitive I’ve been. The tears welling up in her eyes. The hardest day of her life. The first born. A previous miscarriage. They had no way of knowing. They didn’t have ultrasounds back then.

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