and then glanced down to apply it to my finger.
All the while, I was breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, in the manner advised by Dr. Karen Singh,
exhaling at a pacethat would make a candle flicker but not go out. Imagine that candle, Aza, flickering from your breath but still there, always there.”
So I tried that, but the thought spiral kept tightening anyway.
I could hear Dr. Singh saying I shouldn’t get out my phone, that I mustn’t look up the same questions over and over,
but I got it out anyway, and reread the “Human Microbiota” Wikipedia article.
The thing about a spiral is, if you follow it inward, it never actually ends. It just keeps tightening, infinitely.
I sealed the Ziploc bag around the last quarter of my sandwich, got up, and tossed it into an overfilled trash can.
I heard a voice from behind me. “How concerned should I be that you haven’t said more than two words in a row all day?”
“Thought spiral,” I mumbled in reply. Daisy had known me since we were six, long enough to get it.
I figured. Sorry, man. Let’s hang out today.
This girl Molly walked up to us, smiling, and said, “Uh, Daisy, just FYI, your Kool-Aid dye job is staining your shirt.”
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