The morning shower went something like this: Oh my god, I just don’t want to be wrong about everything I’ve ever thought or to feel like I’m in some kind of dysfunctional state because of my personality, because if my personality is toxic, what am I supposed to do? Hey, what am I supposed to do about anything? I don’t have anything at all in my life, I don’t have anything that’s only mine except this feeling, which isn’t even something that’s only mine or something to be proud of but, uuhhhhh, oh my god what am I doing, there’s nothing I can do I’m just going to keep working at worse and worse jobs and I’m going to get sicker and sicker, my hair is going to fall out and my skin is going to get shitty, why am I even thinking about that right now, but I have to because it’s just what I’m thinking, it’s not like I’m making myself think this it’s just what I’m thinking. Oh god, oh god, oh my god.

All this was thought while sobbing silently and not washing, except for a little bit every few minutes because she had to (she was showering, after all) and then feeling totally ridiculous sudsing her buttcrack with the teal plastic bath poof while crying and thinking about the future. The horrible, empty future.

When she wasn’t hiding around the apartment crying, she sat on the couch and felt physically hollow. Like she was resigned, but she didn’t know to what. Randy was being careful around her in a way that really stung, but maybe she was imagining it and he wasn’t acting differently. But, if he wasn’t acting differently after her display last night, wasn’t that bad, too? She got back into bed and he sat on his computer quietly.

“Honey?” she said. He didn’t hear her, but she didn’t want to say it any louder, so she just said, “Honey,” over and over again in the same quiet voice until he said, “Yeah?” and walked into the bedroom.

“I was calling you,” she said.

“I didn’t hear you,” he said. “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I feel really bad today.”

He took her hand and she started crying, but a little cry, not those freaky silent sobs.

“What can I do? I don’t know what to do,” he said.

“I don’t know what to do either, I just don’t know what to do with my life. I have no idea what to do and I feel so awful for putting you through this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” And as she continued to apologize, her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

They both looked at it.

“Who is it?”

“Oh my god.”

“Who is it?”

“Oh my god.”

She handed it to him.

It was a text message. It read, “heres the cutie her name is crispy adams choice lol,” and there was a picture of a Labrador attached to the text.