i can hear the cars outside. screams, too, and maybe laughter. i like sleeping with the window open, even though the traffic inevitably wakes me in the morning. the breeze is nice.

my roommates and i started watching the amazon prime original show fleabag tonight. by started watching i mean we watched the entire first season because it’s only six episodes, and each episode is less than twenty-five minutes. this is one of those shows, i think, that i wanted to like more than i did. and typically when i want to like media more than i actually did, it’s because the story didn’t end up resonating with me; i just didn’t see what the big deal about it was. but this wasn’t the case for fleabag. it did resonate. it resonated so much that i kind of felt sick to my stomach after watching.

i saw a lot of my relationship with my sister in the main character and her relationship with her sister. i saw a lot of my sister in the main character in general—the self-hatred, the dead best friend, the immense guilt, the—

i’ll stop there.

there’s a line in 四月は君の嘘 in which the protagonist tells his piano teacher, 「この曲は、母さんの匂いがしすぎるんです。」(translation: “this song reeks too much of my mother,” he says.)

that show reeks too much of my sister. it makes unbelievably, extraordinarily, unshakably sad. just that: sad.

i don’t really want to watch the second season of fleabag. i’m scared to, honestly. but i know my roommates both like it, and i know they want to. so i will. and as we watch, i’ll just lie there and hope nothing else in the show stirs up unwanted memories.

there’s a line in bojack horseman where diane says to a cheerful, popular YA novel protagonist she’s writing, “it’s not that easy,” and the protagonist in her head responds, “i know. but wouldn’t it be nice if it was?”

i know it’s not that easy to not get re-traumatized for the rest of my life by seemingly innocent pieces of media. but wouldn’t it be nice if it was?

it would, i think.