Soliloquy to Extricate Addiction: The Esteemed Letter S

There are two parts to my story:

1) ECSTATIC. Ex. Static. X. State. Tic.

When she’s ecstatic, her chest hurts. So so much.

Except - it’s the type of energy you get the moment the Significant Other of your present becomes the ex of your past. Example symptoms include heartache and longing or independent freedom - bursting through.

Stacy stayed static, in bed. Skimming her surroundings as she suppressed incessant speculations about securing a sack of Sativa from her Snapchat plug.

X is what you get when you answer something wrong. She knows what the wrong decision is. So she stalls and just toys with the idea since she can’t help it. The crossed wires of her body compel her to stay frozen with racing thoughts or she can run to numb them. Running would be bad.

Stating the facts: Stacy has been sober for a month. Stacey has stuck to the routine for 2 weeks. Stacey forfeited the routine for a day, specifically yes-ter-day… Yes, Yea, Yeah to the yearning of yesterday. How she engaged in media glorifying her old lifestyle. Stacy got excited at the idea of going back to who she used to be. Stacy’s state is agitated as she surmounts a list supposing what it is she should do. It is 6AM and she didn’t sleep last night.

Taking control through movement because stillness isn’t working, she starts to wiggle her toes to let some energy out. Tick Tock goes the clock and 45 minutes pass and she is still stuck. TikTok goes the app that seems to send her signals to her spongy brain that a slip of Sativa shouldn’t seem too bad. Tic Tac Toe. Her toes are wriggling and tic tic tic tic BOOM!

At 7AM she is scurrying out her dorm in several layers cause there is snow outside. 17 minutes walking can maybe be cut down to 7 if she runs. Running. Running. Running. Running would be bad.

Susceptible to slipping on the ice, she surely falls.

So, is the supernatural surreptitiously surmising solutions?

Her head throbs, and her nose pointed at the sky. The excitement is subsiding and as she takes in a few breaths of air. She notices in the barren tree branches above her, that, a bird from the order Strigifrome is perched upon them.

2) Ecstatic escape. Or rather. Escaping Ecstasy.

Her short story would be called, “Strigi shows me the way: S sounds like Es.”

“Strigi” she called the Owl, “stared into my soul”.

But that doesn’t happen until she is back in her room.

Currently, she is on the ground and she has a conversation with the bird on the tree:

She challenged Strigi, “So embarrassing, you had to see that.”

“Who?”

“You, Who else?”

“Hoo? Hoo?”

“Who am I going to visit?”

“Hoo- Hoo?”

“What’s it to you?”

As she sat upright she pulled out her phone and saw that it had cracked. She wouldn’t be able to signal her snapchat plug of her arrival and her head hurt. Her eagerness and urge for euphoria had subsided. She walked back home and thought back to a writing prompt she read somewhere about writing about owls.

In her room, she looks up some info to write a story about an owl. The prompt she sees says barn owl but she thinks that’s not important. “Owls are divided into two families: the true (or typical) owl family, Strigidae, and the barn-owl family, Tytonidae.”

This sentence settles peace within her and so she begins to write.

The coincidence that the S in this story superimposes on the style is the same as the coincidence that the owl family is the word strigidae which starts with S is the same as the coincidence that I didn’t succumb to searching for sativa in the same way Stacy gives up her stroll for it.

Like Stacy in some words the Owl saved me. The idea of an owl saved me from succumbing to Sativa.

Still, I shall stayed stunned about one part of this story because I will

Forever ponder:

“What is my obsession with the letter S?”