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 chunks of flommus 

the last 36 hours

Wake up. Walk dogs. I need to write. There are these thoughts that are plaguing my head. I think I’m going to be okay. Must do art.

These leaves on the ground are enough.

“Sorry I’m running late.”

I got through painting. The water that hits my skin in the shower feels alive, am I alive? Step out. Oh I’m sad.

I have a flashback. I’m trying to fight my own brain from envisioning my mother laid out on the floor before me. I drop down. I cry. I can’t close my eyes. I can’t look down. It’s easier to see. Breathe. I stand up. I try to reply to messages. I pace the floor.

“I’m having an anxiety attack.”

“You shouldn’t be alone.”

It’s been awhile. There’s a lot of catching up, “How was your thanksgiving?” Every time I hear that question my brain just relays back to me “how was the day your mother died?”

There’s more fighting. I can’t stop being angry. I’m driving. “I’m sick of everything being about you.” Overwhelming and I’m biting my nails. I didn’t want to leave this late. I’ll make it. I made it. We watch Harry Potter.

The snow made me happy. The snow made my shoes wet.

The coffee was bad but I was falling asleep in the car. Traffic kept me from getting home. I got home. It took awhile shaking to convince myself to cook.

I miss you mom.

I reply to messages. My friend wants me to go out. I need to get these projects done. Later I cry. It’s an “I miss you” text and 4 missed calls. I call back. It’s felt like years since we talked like this. You hang up. I’m sad. It becomes too much. Make your safety net. I’m in the dark in a bath. Tell someone something. Okay. I did it. I can’t stop freaking out. A pill. Asleep.

Slept most of the day away. Managed to get up. I beg for the pains in my sides to go away. Bath. Shower. Dogs out. My coffee place is busy today. I listen to audio. I try to get my brain to focus. I don’t feel different.

What did she say? Rewind. Write. Okay, projects up. I have to paint. Reply to messages. Paint. Look I’m normal. I wish I was normal.

“I just don’t want to be alone.”

—alley scheffki

Flommist Alley Scheffki is 23 years young, ‘I am the blue rose. Dies ist ein wunsch für freiheit.’ Copyright © 2017 Alley Scheffki. Alley is also the driving force and host of FLoMMCAST.

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Der Tung
Mon 12 Feb 2018

FLOMM is a MODERN ART game app    art history resource    faux historical art movement
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