Everyday Yeah one-thousand three-hundred and ninety-two

The rug on the floor of the dining room is my mother’s. She bought it at a place that sells rugs. There is a stain on one of the rugs. I dropped a peanut butter popsicle on it when I was three. Yeah doesn’t believe in the existence of peanut butter popsicles. He doesn’t understand that everything exists. The last time I was holding a peanut butter popsicle he was typing a movie review for a movie he hadn’t watched. He was using a non-electronic machine. The ribbon kept jamming. I showed him what I was eating. He was disappointed. He said, “You’re just licking a knife you stuck in a jar of peanut butter.” I was embarrassed that he said this about me. I crawled under a rug, my mother’s rug. I stained it again. The house began to crumble. I rubbed some graham crackers on my wounds. I tasted the wounds. I was disappointed I didn’t use the graham crackers for something else. In a closet in a part of the house that wasn’t crumbling there was a whole basket of bandages. I wasted such useful graham crackers. There was a hint of honey. My wounds tasted it.