There once was a woman who gave up financial security, doctor’s appointments, decent living conditions not involving very large bugs, and other important things in order to become the true version of herself.
And the true version of herself was a version that no one was particularly interested in. Aside from a handful of men who correctly surmised that her struggle to become who she really was left her exhausted and her exhaustion left her desperate and her desperation made her available to them in ways they could enjoy.
Until the teeth started wobbling in her jaw, that is, and the circles darkened under her eyes into night.
And then she was alone. Unless you counted the very large bugs.
And one of the bugs said, “I guess you feel pretty stupid now.”
The woman took a rotten tooth and threw it at the bug and missed. Then the woman started to laugh. The bug also started to laugh.
The woman and the bug became very good friends and the woman wrote a play about their friendship and it didn’t sell. Winter came, the heating pipes froze solid, the bug died of old age.
Moonlight fell through the window, fell on the woman as her lovers had done before. She watched the smoke from her pipe curl upward and upward. One day, she thought, human beings would live on the moon. And the bugs would follow. She wouldn’t live long enough to see it happen, but she still wished all of them well.