My Year of Rest and Relaxation

“You are getting very sleepy,” I said in my head.

But really, by this point, I think I had resigned myself to fate. No stupid movie would save me.

I went to the bathroom and took stock of the medicine cabinet, counting out all my pills on the grimy tile floor.
<…>
I knew in my heart that they were all useless now—a collection of foreign currency, a gun with no bullets.

“I don’t care what the FDA has to say: a nightmare is just an invitation to rewire your neurocircuits.

I needed Dr. Tuttle’s unwavering trust. There was no shortage of psychiatrists in New York City, but finding one as irresponsible and weird as Dr. Tuttle would be a challenge I didn’t think I could handle.

Finally, exhausted, I drifted off just a centimeter from my mind,

Anyway, thanks for listening.” She leaned over me on the sofa, kissed my cheek, said, “I love you,” and left.

what it was like to come back from lunch and find a note on her desk. “Like you can break up with someone over memo.
<…>
And he’s like, ‘It’s over. I can’t see you anymore.’ Like in a movie!”
<…>
“What a dick,” I said robotically.
<…>“What did the memo say?”
“That I’m getting a promotion, and they’re transferring me to the Towers.

I closed my eyes. I pictured the fox and the beaver, cozied up together in a little cave near a waterfall, the beaver’s buckteeth, its raspy snore, the perfect animal avatar for Reva. And me, the little white fox splayed out on its back, a bubble-gum pink tongue lolling out of its pristine, furry snout, impervious to the cold.

My muscles ticked like a car that’s been driven a long distance