A STORY ABOUT A WOMAN WITH A BAD BACK

piece by
Margaux Olverd

So there I was living in my post-influence world with my screen time limits set, my TV off, and some book I had primed in my lap…I guess that’s when my new CBD vape pen hit me.

I got it as a gift at a Women in Wellness event. I started drifting to sleep with my night mask on. Was I ever going to wake up for my app-reserved workout class? “Fuck…not again,” I said aloud to myself, while dreaming about whether I got the best deal on my Rent the Runway account. There’s probably an article I read somewhere supporting fashion statements as a career move. I wish I had bookmarked one.

Was I siphoning my retirement money into an abyss of mid-level fashion? Are vagina wipes worth their weight in gold or are they just baby wipes with a different scent? Why didn’t my parents teach me the tax code? Did I cc’ so and so on that work email? Is tomorrow Sunday? My dreams continued at such a rate I can only credit my SSRI. I knew I should have taken an Ambien. 

I had really wanted to try Plyojam Yoga in the morning. My acupuncturist recommended it. But now I knew I was destined to sleep through the class before I could drink my matcha and maca. I loved being smug and telling people I didn’t drink coffee. It made them forgive the other parts of me that were made up of substance tendencies and shallow nostalgia for the 2000s.

God, being a self-realized adult without children was proving more difficult than Goop had described. I meditated for three minutes to center myself and took a deep Ujjayi breath. I reminded myself that Gwyneth Paltrow ate cheese on her honeymoon and to celebrate film openings. For a minute I was really lucid and clear. 

Then I heard a loud crack. I was about to tweet that an earthquake had happened. I checked Twitter. Yep, fuck. I needed to see my chiropractor.