in the morning, as i stare at my red eyes in the bathroom mirror, i decide that my toothbrush is the most solid thing in existence.  my toothbrush is exactly where i left it last.  it’s the same color and the same shape it was yesterday.  its handle feels far more real than the rug i tripped over in the middle of the night, its bristles firmer than the crumple of used tissues on the floor.  the toothpaste tastes the same as always.  i clench my teeth as i brush, hard and fast.  a spray of saliva and paste hits my reflection in the mirror.