Tits Up or Bottoms Up?

Bettina had a come apart today. It's everything really. The psycho who's supposed to be running this country, the pandemic when she really misses friends and the farmer's market, which she feels bad even admitting to, since she's lucky enough to have a place to hole up and eat Little Debby snack cakes, which she'd also never admit to except once I caught her sneaking an oatmeal creme pie out of the stash she keeps in her washing machine. And all the horrible fires and destruction and what feels like the earth's revenge for our abuses. She read this book by Cormac McCarthy, The Road, and it's this dystopian life after the apocalypse type thing, and all she can think is please god, has she hoarded enough canned vegetables to keep from having to eat other people, because she's sure humans don't taste like chicken.

I shouldn't have told her that when I shared this photo with co-workers out of concern, several asked if she was face-down or face-up. It's hard going through life with just a torso. That's how she feels on her darker days. She'll lie there for a few hours, but then she usually picks herself up, dusts herself off and goes out to her garden to pick some vegetables.