No Strings

by Lucy Bexley

If Birdie had taught her anything, it was that mothers didn’t have to be selfless. Sometimes the very act of being selfish, knowing what you needed and taking it, was the thing that made us better to those we care about.

That was one thing old phones had going for them, the satisfying clack of a hard hang up.

Elsie: Well, I’m dropping a pin. Call all of my friends from soccer if you don’t hear from me in 30 minutes Avery: Not the police? Elsie: The police won’t do anything. The lesbians on my soccer team are also my apocalypse team

Elsie’s heart stuttered; Haelstrom’s glasses and messy hair were activating every librarian fantasy she’d ever had.

Were men with big desks the white-collar version of those with big trucks?

“Sure, but breakfast is a state of mind. And time is just a concept. Plus, I think we can both agree I need some luck.”

Memory always degrades, like a VHS stuck in the player, until all that’s left is snow.

That was life: happiness framed by struggle and absurdity, all of it a little messy.

Her depression had been looming for the past few days, a storm on the horizon. Jones knew she couldn’t outrun it forever, but having a clear goal helped.

But somehow, none of that stopped this; her depression wasn't directly related to the general state of her life.

She couldn’t remember the last time she showered, but she couldn’t bear the thought of doing it now. Washing her hair seemed like an impossible amount of work. First the standing, and then the lifting of her arms and the rinsing—it was all too much.

She never knew when her depressive episodes would end, just that, most likely, they would. Her lows were like the depths of winter, when it seemed like the cold would never leave her bones, and the days were an endless dreary darkness. But then, while she barely noticed it, the ground began to thaw, and finally in March or April or May the trees would bud, and spring returned. Jones was cyclical, too.

The in-between times became dreaded, too. Those days when she felt stable when her mood was dictated by the events of her day and not some chemical misfiring. They gave off too much hope, like maybe she’d evened out, but then the longer her happiness went on, the worse it was when she stopped sleeping, to be followed by catatonic days without end; her partners’ frustrations would roar back to life. Jones didn’t blame them. Or she didn’t blame them much.

“I really regret not holding onto that corn so I could chuck it at you now.” “I think you mean shuck it at me.”

our impressions of people are really a reflection of us. If you want to see yourself more clearly, Elsie, people you dislike are the best mirrors.

Cleaning after a depressive episode always felt like a punishment for struggling. Sometimes the thought of dealing with the flotsam of messes left by the wave of her low was enough to pull her back under.

Things might never go back to normal. Maybe normal is always something in the past that we’re trying to get back to, even when we’ve outgrown it.”

Elsie thought of all the times she and her brother had watched Muppet Christmas Carol together, laughing at Rizzo and Gonzo as the intrepid storytellers. It was magical.

You’ve got to abandon this book. There’s no shame in a DNF.” “A DNF? Is that some sort of sex thing?” Elsie laughed. “I hope not. It means did not finish. If a book’s not for you, you can just stop reading it.” “But I’ve already read a third of it.” “And that’s exactly why you should stop reading it. You’ve invested too much time already, it’s a sunk cost. You know you can check something off your to-do list by simply deciding not to do it, right?”

So many of Jones’ days were dictated by things outside of her control, although assuredly in her head. So strange that her own mind was the one thing in her life that she couldn’t bend to her will.

Alarm bells went off in her head. Telling people she was dating that she was feeling down for no reason, and that they couldn’t fix it with a nice dinner or funny joke usually led to disaster.

But Elsie wasn’t a bad decision. She was kind and caring and sexy as hell. And when Jones was around her, she wanted to be the best version of herself. Not that Elsie made her the best version of herself and without her, that would go away. But being near Elsie made Jones want to grow. She wanted to tend to herself, which wasn’t something that had ever occurred to her to do before.

I’m sure our listeners would love to know who your influences are. Elsie: I mean Kermit the Frog, for sure. But also less celebrated characters like Rizzo the Rat and the Fraggles.