text: Tanya was the kind of girl who almost made you fathom a Republican. Her blue hair that had faded back into a mess of shit algae green and platinum split ends. She probably had nine black hoodies, but that was only for an excuse to lie and say she wasn’t always wearing the same one. That would be *so* gross. Though the bong was always in the right belly pocket of the hoodie where she tucked it in the night before as she hopped into bed. I won’t even talk about the bed. The hoodies were a good investment of the state’s money because she hated showering and changing and moving. There’s piss all over the carpet. You would assume from the dog, but the cat’s litterbox might be so overflowed that they got sick of the smell and journeyed west to the living room. “Why can’t they just piss and shit for days in advance when I let them out for five minutes” she thought. When she remembers to let them out, that is. What tattoo she should get next is the biggest priority on her mind as she watches cartoons in bed at noon. Her day is just getting started, though it may as well be the middle and the end now, too. She would apply to jobs once she was feeling better. There was a good chance she just felt sick because Aries don’t do well in the winter. She ate brain food all day: Cheetos, frozen pizza, and Oreos. She lived in section 8 just like her mother. The alcoholic mother who taught her the tricks on how to play the system. The mother whose location she never knew unless it was the impromptu drop-in to ask for some cash. The shelves were sticky even though to her knowledge nothing had ever spilled there. The dust coated so much it could nearly be confused for a bad paint job. “Why clean when it will just get that way again?” The pets got let out today, right after they were fed. She was up anyways, so she may as well do everything she needed to do for the day. Back to the bed. The bed that’s too gross to talk about. The bed in the apartment covered in piss and shit that the state pays for. The apartment the state moved her to, once her dad died. The dad whose previous residence before the ground was prison. The dad who gave Tanya the 8inch scar across her head, hidden under the ugly blue green and platinum hair. The dad that cartoons help her to forget. Tanya forgets the time her skull got cracked. The lucky time. The time unlike all the many times before where nobody called the police. If all the junk food damaged her brainpower it wouldn’t be so bad. She didn’t need much of her brain power to remember where the bed was. She only needed a little to remember that her medication was on the nightstand next to the bed. And a little more to remember that the number carved into the nightstand was for the doctor, in case she had thoughts of trying it again. She should probably change her sweatshirt. She should probably shower. The thought of it all brought on a little blip of anxiety. She would do it tomorrow. Tanya ought to get a job.