Jump from the hook

Meet a new person and tell them your name is Kate, Alice, Cassandra, Natasha, Gwen. Tell them you're twenty-four or sixteen. You're studying Chemistry, Sociology, English or Russian. Do your hair a different way, put on make-up for a change, a dress, an outfit. Dance with a man who could be your father and tell him you're younger than you are and see if he falters. Tell them you're foreign, speak with the accent you practiced in all those language classes and buy another beer until you believe it yourself. Change your tastes and preferences just for a moment until someone new comes along and you can switch, jump ship, buy another drink.

It's an extension from when the hairdresser asks if you're doing anything nice after this. My boyfriend's coming up to see me, my girlfriend's back from holiday, I'm going shopping, I'm going to a party, a gig, an orgy, I'm going home. Doesn't matter what I'm doing, tell them something different anyway.

Meet a new person and choose your own adventure. Just remember to backtrack if you decide to like them. Remember what you lied, what you want to keep, what you want to change. It's a complicated business this juggling act.

I found all my old postcards under my bed, and letters and junk. I found my secret box, the one with two lids that are a pain in the ass to open and held so many things. Torn up love letters and rings and necklaces and stones and secrets. I pulled them both open, wrecking the skin on my thumb that's already looking ropey from trying to make things work, and there was nothing inside. I'd taken it all out last time I found it. Disappointment.