Birthday-themed guided meditation. New shoes, broken toe. I will take the master bedroom. We all peer into the refrigerator and agree that it is expansive. We also all agree that Coke tastes best out of a glass bottle, and worst out of a plastic bottle. A can is in-between. This decision is reached unanimously, harmoniously, creating a kind of Coke garden among us. We sit in it and snort ketamine. I sit in it and tell everyone I am totally okay with no longer being in my twenties. I go upstairs into the bathroom and whisper into the mirror: oh my gosh.

In the bathroom it feels important to inventory the material and metaphysical things that anchor my self to a conventional life trajectory. I don’t know why but it just is. Creating self-inventory is subjective and thus flawed. I have fine lines under my eyes. I have covered the lines with concealer. I have synced my devices. I have four crystals with strong protective properties. I have learned to floss. The carpet of the bedroom is thick underfoot. It is because I am older that I notice such small details. I know I will notice the home decor choices of others for the rest of my life.