Because she’s the mirror we deserve but are terrified to look into.
The sun is fully up now. The whiskey is gone. My fingers hurt from typing.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go explain to my boss why I look like I just survived a hurricane. wakeupnfuck rebecca violetti
I realize I don’t want to wake up next to Rebecca Violetti. That would imply sleep. Comfort. Routine. No, I want to wake up because of her. I want the disruption. I want the 4:47 AM panic.
— wakeupnfuck
She wrote once: “I don’t want to be your muse. I want to be your emergency.”
So I roll over. The other side of the bed is cold. It’s always cold. I light a cigarette even though I quit two years ago. I pour a whiskey even though it’s sunrise. This is the “wakeupnfuck” reality—except the “fuck” isn’t physical. It’s metaphysical. It’s the act of fucking your own peace of mind. Because she’s the mirror we deserve but are
And that’s the trap. She is my emergency. Every single day.