It’s about Dusty

I have been looking for old friends. Looking to feel myself valuable. It gives more meaning for me to find a purpose to reconnect with people who made a difference in school. All while doing that, I keep getting this armpit smell on myself. I’m going like, “Come onnnn…” each time I get a whiff of it. I don’t know where it’s from. It’s not from my armpit. Not kidding.

So Eliot is not well. I called him from the office to have him take his antibiotic. Then it became a string of messages. I told him to get it from the fridge, to take 10ml. It took a while before he replied back, “This medicine is DUSTY”.


Then he sent me a picture of it. It’s the other bottle of fresh antibiotic unmixed, still in a bag, on the table – not from the fridge.

“It’s not mixed for use yet. The one you need is in the fridge. Take it at 10ml.”

This conversation went on for another few minutes. My instruction became repetition for the next few times. ‘This medicine is dusty’ – LOL. Really? LOL.

Dusty Medicine
This was the photo Eliot sent me.

It is at the end of the day. This post had taken 7 hours to finish. I had 1 meeting. 1 lunch. Bought myself this quarter fried chicken that I swore to eat it for tea but apparently I’m bringing it home for dinner. No wonder I’m not losing weight. Well on another hand, my heels and eventually feet, then back to the heel, are in pain. It could just be anything. So I stopped myself from exercising.

Now I need to stop myself, where the armpit smell still remains a mystery. And this is the final sentence from me, today.


Author: momsthetruth

Struggling INFJ living in broad daylight and pretends she sleeps through the day like a vampire but knows nothing about Twilight, aside of that hairy beast thing that changes when the girl he can't have does something that can get herself killed.

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