Emergency pill

What sad literary space this would be if I wrote about the same type of depression every week… with the exception that I stay off the lasagna because I’d like my taste buds to rest for a while… besides eating is somehow pointless when your soul spews out with a coughing fit.

I always try new things though taking an emergency pill, which is by the way not only for the day after but for the following 120 hours after “the little accident” as my distinctly male doctor explained, wasn’t on my list for the near future.

I chortle like a child when my eyes wander across the shelves in the pharmacy, just as three girls intently stare at my little package, and although a recruiter called from Ireland I turned her away… put the phone on mute and enjoyed the calm in the little country shop. Maybe I don’t want to move to Ireland after all… and, my goals in that moment were quite distinctly not part of this world. As my thoughts on men regarding their absence of pregnancy anxieties pick up pace, I choose to describe them later at a much more appropriate time (I am sure there will be many more opportunities).

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