The New Me

by Halle Butler

I’m reminded of how afraid I am to die, and how every morning is just one more used-up day.

I open up my email, see that I have three unread messages, and go through the normal emotional fanfare, thinking in rapid flashes something like “you’re going to prison” or “you’re going to die” or “everybody hates you.”

Back at my desk I sit and slowly collect money that I can use to pay the rent on my apartment and on food so that I can continue to live and continue to come to this room and sit at this desk and slowly collect money.