my mirror broke yesterday, all by itself. it just fell over and broke into pieces that i couldn't salvage. i cut up my fingers and toes trying to put it back together. the ancient romans apparently contributed to the notion that a broken mirror would cause seven years of bad luck - as they believed that the cracking of a mirror was a result of an individual's poor health. i hadn't taken that truth into consideration until muscle memory had my fingers hook under the hem of my jeans, just to pull them down in front of nothing. my shaven-to-ankle lower half exposed to a blank, white attic wall. not physical but mental might have just been the thing to shatter my mirror into bits and destroy the skin that it never failed to reflect back to me. normally, i would interpret such a thing as betrayal on the tails to my head's side; a successful backstab from an inanimate object that served to be the only control outlet i had - but i miraculously couldn't. i see bad habits shattering to heal my psyche whether i like it or not. those seven years are my deadline for change. the day 7/5/2031 7:50PM finally comes, i will either be dead - or a brand new woman. by 7/5/2031 7:50PM, i hope to prefer the latter. either way, i hope, by 7/5/2031 7:32PM, aphrodite gives me a clear-cut consensus