Semi-Daily Scribbles

Edie was uncomfortable. Maybe it was a premonition that nibbled at the corners of her attention. Or it could've been acid reflux. She was definitely on edge. Edie woke up that morning, which was always a good way to start the day, and saw a single pink rose tucked in the folds of her comforter. She loved roses, she loved all things pink. But Edie didn't remember slipping into bed the night before with a flower between her teeth, or stuck between her toes. That left only one viable option as to how the single pink rose found its way on top of her quilt. She put it there. While she was asleep. While the other Edie worked her magic along the seams of reality and wriggled into position. Insertion of the old familiar Similar was a common occurrence around Edie's house. At least it explained her light-headedness and jittery innards. She was not going to be herself for the rest of the day, maybe longer. The other Edie, the smarter, prettier, talented, fearless Edie, popped in for one of her impromptu visits. Everyday Edie was now Special Occasion Edie and that meant hearts and promises were on schedule to be broken. Special Occasion Edie lifted the rose to her nose and inhaled. The fragrance was sweet and cinnamon-y with a hint of day-old entrails. Nothing was safe when the Similar showed up.

A little hot spot flickers to the right of my recliner. Vibrations set in, poking and pricking my skin, as I sit in what used to be her chair. The chair she'd let me sit in on cold days, like today, so she could soak up my body heat. The air around the little hot flickering spot smells like chicken soup. I feel a smidge of wetness on my cheek. One pair of legs, two occupants, nestle in this plush green La-Z-Boy. An incandescent bubble zigs, then zags, in my peripheral vision. A manifestation of my disembodied familiar.