This morning, when I woke up, I discovered that I was a liquid. Not water. I was infinitely more complex than water. My arms were still puddles of beige, and my legs were pools of candy-striped pajama-pants. I poured myself out of bed and sloshed across the floor. My roommate waded through me, in all her solidity, tisking at the mess I would make if any of my droplets dyed the carpet.
I gathered myself into a wet mass and seeped into my dresser drawer, and the candy-striped pajama pools turned into a more appropriate denim blue. I decided that today, I didn’t need antiperspirant.
I drained myself out of the dresser and raged headfirst down the hall into the kitchen. I liked being a liquid in the hallway. My pink feet hurried after my droplets of hair, and in the rush, edges of me foamed.
