I'll avoid lashing out at the humans around me like a feral cat. I'll avoid barricading myself in the laundry room and crying hot bitter tears and yelling, "leave me alone!" I'll avoid Kate Bush songs and try Kool and the Gang instead. Maybe a little Erasure or New Order.
Maybe I'll start my Tina Turner sharpie portrait. Maybe. If my hand and arm stop hurting.
I might shave my legs and do my hair up in an elaborate bun with about 13 bobby pins. No eye makeup though. Eyelid eczema flared up during my PTSD trigger episode on Saturday afternoon. Now they are scaly. Flaky. Dee-sgusting.
