I set up the coffee pot for tomorrow.
I brush my teeth while I do it, pouring water with my left while brushing with my right hand.
My breasts bounce with the effort, and I pull my shoulders back ever so slightly to make them stop. I learned this trick when I was 13, the year I got my breasts.
It feels normal, like going to school or doing homework or putting gasoline in the car or paying bills. I'm supposed to do these things, because these are the things every day people do, right?
Is this what it feels like to be dead? When I die and go wherever people like me go, will I have to set up the coffee pot there? Will I have to put on my fake smile and go to work and tell everyone how just fine thanksforasking I am?
God, I hope not.
Are you listening, God? Get someone else to set up that You-forsaken coffee pot, please.