Apocalyptic Thought

Months of planning, fantasying how it’s going to go down, all stemming from a question of what brought us to this breaking point. It’s a question that needs clarity, the kind that you must climax (by one’s self) to verify the decision is sound. The clarity came, and the decision was made. I had to get out. All the stuff was already packed up: my clothes, my excessive amount of books that haven’t been read, the old games played once but will be play again but not anytime soon, the books of fad diets that can’t really be fad diets, old pictures of myself that I have no intention on keeping though my mom did but now she doesn’t want them either, and I’m ready to take the dog— she’ll kill me when she notices. The Snap Chat of her and the girls with the caption, “5 th rounds of mimosas make me cray cray, ” signals that I have a little time. She can’t hold her liquor and her friends will call her an Uber soon. My heart thumps against the center of my chest, doubting if I’m