XXIII. Lackluster.

The little martian watches my retinas explode and splatter all over my pink keyboard

“Oh wow, that’s gross,” he says matter of factly

“Tell me about it” I respond, my brain on autopilot, shuttling out American sitcom-like comebacks.

My brain seeps out of my ears and down onto my fuzzy brown turtleneck. I was going for an autumn aesthetic this morning, but the sweater has faded and clings all wrong on my shoulders, making me feel more like a boxy victorian woman in hideous brown stripes.

“Are you going to whine for the entire paragraph? “ asks the martian patiently.

“Yes” I nod, “I am going to whine for as long as I need to before the world gets sick of my whining and changes things”

“That sounds like a pretty lame plan” mutters the martian

“It's the only one I have”

“Okay then, let's whine together!” The martian smiles, his eyes all shiny and hopeful

He looks oddly optimistic, sitting there with his palms tucked beneath his knees, his back straight and his silly hopeful grin spreading all over his glistening face

“I can’t whine effectively with you looking so goddamn content”

"then don't."