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splinterswerve
Victoria, BC, Canada
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Real TV

by Wendi Seskus-James


She got up late which was no later than usual. Laying in the permanent depression she made in her
bed, she religiously recited her mantra, “Every day is a chance for improvement.” She cursed the sandman as
she rubbed her eyes and unfolded herself from her crash position and crawled out of pillowy softness.
Finding herself in the bathroom, she eyed herself in the mirror above the vanity and sighed, “I don’t want
to grow old gracefully, I want to fight it every step of the way.” She pinched and pushed her face with her
accusing fingers, noticing the not-so-fine lines, “Ah well, takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’....” She
tugged at her grey roots. With her elbows up she inspected an armpit with a crunched-up, judgmental
nose and decreed, “You’re not fully clean unless you’re zestfully clean.” She frowned and stared into
the mirror on the wall again. In an attempt to encourage herself she groaned, “C’mon...I’m a big kid
now.” She shuffled down a balding shag tunnel as if something was pressing, as if something more urgent
was on her mind, muttering as she scuttled, “The start of something fresh. Maybe she’s born with it. It
helps make my day complete.” She gained momentum as she barrelled down the hallway finally arriving in the
living room. “Obey your thirst,” she said in a serious trance and reached into a cabinet. She frantically fumbled at a vodka bottle, “Everything must go....”