Emily Carney

Scrolling

The way in which I mindlessly scroll through different colored socks on Forever21.com has become a metaphor for my life
Don’t care
For a particular pair
Just keep scrolling for the sake of scrolling
Just keep scrolling for the sake of reaching the end
Just keep scrolling because I am scrolling

My life has become an array of repetitive Band-Aids and ointment applications
My life has become, my life has become…
My life has become “my life has become”

The anxiety hits again (had it ever really left?) and it’s like wet cement when he puts his hand on my thigh
Hot
Wet
Permanent
Can’t be touched
Don’t deserve to be touched
“Next time let’s just eat the pig”

I am highly skilled at:
Typing (75 words per minute)
Working with others
Making people feel at ease

Making people feel at ease?
No
I have become exquisitely good at letting the thick, foggy tequila spill down my throat
I am well versed in pressing my teeth against the lime with just the right amount of pressure, so as to soothe away the bitter yet leave enough pulp for the next time
The next shot
In roughly another 45 seconds
And I have gained the knowledge to find the most booze, for the least amount of dollars
$23 for nearly 2 liters
A cheap brand
On sale
But you can’t put that on a résumé can you

“You’ll have to take these antibiotics twice a day for 10 days,” she tells me
And it scares me that “don’t drink” is an afterthought
Scares me that I don’t know how I’ll make it to Friday

I can’t stand to look at myself
I can’t stand to watch another piece of television
I can’t stand to hear his voice telling me I’m beautiful
Over and over and over
Until the word feels like a filmy strip being pressed to my soul like a temporary tattoo
As if it must mean so much to me
As if it will tie together all loose ends of myself
Which feather and fray
With each passing day
Like true blue American denim.