On Dividing Into Two Distinct Selves

I had planned on writing something else here today.

I had planned on writing somewhere else today.  But then it rained.

I had planned on getting dressed today.  But then my closet was a cave of moths.

I had planned on cooking today.  But then fire was never my friend.

I had planned on eating today.  But then all food tasted like strawberries.

I had planned on cleaning today.  But my hands hold only themselves.

I had planned on driving today.  But the car is a river of steel.

I had planned on drinking today.  But then my tongue became a desert and would let no moisture pass to my throat.

I had planned on shaving today.  But then my razor refused.  It asked for better pay.  It asked to never be thrown away.

I had planned on reading today.  But then my eyes became hoods of light.

I had planned on walking today.  But then the sidewalk would not leave my side.

I had planned on running today.  But the horizon would not say my name.

I had planned on crawling today.  But there is no effect without an aftereffect.

I had planned on laughing today.  But then my lungs recused themselves from the air.

I had planned on crying today.  But then salt is the most treasured seasoning.

I had planned on writing something else here today.  But then rejection is a free ticket to a performance you have no right to refuse.

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