48: Trashy Novella (FIRST PART)

In 48 days I will be 30

I am writing a trashy novella in honour of my upcoming show in the Toronto Fringe Festival: The Queen’s Eulogy (it’s a play performed in a pile of trash). Enjoy.


FIRST PART: You Will Leave The Internet Alone


There is too much demanded of me this morning.

My mother fell in the shower but she’s only fifty so she was fine. She lay on the floor, legs bent at the knee, one hand over her forehead, naked, so naked, breasts falling to either side of her, laughing.


I ask if she is ok because that is the most that I need to know at this moment.

“I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine. I’m fine I’m fine I’m fine.”

More than I needed to know.

Dad is already at work. I steal change from the drawer behind his desk chair in case I need the bus but I know I won’t need the bus, I just want a reason to take his change. I do not go anywhere because everything I need is on my computer and no one loves me.

The woman who cleans the house cannot help but be in all the wrong places at once. 

“You can’t clean the bedroom right now because mom fell in the shower.”

“Is she ok?”

“I mean, yeah.”

I step over the vacuum and walk down the stairs to the kitchen.

Some one made coffee and then drank all the coffee. What is the point of being?

My phone rings. My boss, Destiny. The phone tells me DESTINY (scared cat emoji). She will assign me too much for the day. I will hate Destiny.

“Hi.” I am nice to my boss because she is my boss.


My name is Sandra and she calls me Sand and it is repulsive.


“Can you get on Facebook right now and let me know how many people have Liked my post from this morning.”

Destiny is in her sixties. She is unbelievably lazy.

“Yep.” I put the phone on speaker. I check with two taps of my thumb. “Five people.”

“That’s all?”

“You posted it at like…five am.”

“Yes but they can see it all day.”

The post is about today’s flash sale. Destiny is the lead designer and founder of DESTI, a clothing line for women who are just like Destiny. I manage all of our social media. Something like a million times a day, she will do my work for me and tell me that I am bad at my job. 

“But they aren’t likely to see a lot of it if you post it earlier in the day.”

“Can you just fix it.”

“I’m going to take it down and post it later.”


I lose interest.


“Don’t take it down.”


“Just fix it.”


I take down the post. I list it on my list of shitty things I don’t care about but I have to do.

I make coffee, spilling grinds everywhere because who cares the cleaning lady has a vacuum and it’s not like she has anything to do but clean.

As the coffee drips, my phone starts to vibrate uncontrollably. My hand drops the phone, unsure what to do with the tenacious vibes. The phone sets on fire. 


The phone knows my name.




“YES WHAT, what do you want, fuck, what is it?”






“I don’t understand–”


The phone shouts at me and then it literally dies. 


Come back tomorrow for a new part!

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There is also still time to conribute to my Fringe Show. If you like my writing and you can’t make it to the show, our fundraiser is a great way to show your support.  Thanks so much!

Peace peace calm peace,





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