It's three in the afternoon and all day I've been angry with you for being sick. Think you are revelling in it, but can't be entirely sure. Struggle to give you the benefit of the doubt because a significant part of myself - let's say 85.3% - wants to love you.
I've been feeling guilty all the time these days. It's not clear to me whether you've noticed this or not. I see everything and everything's grey.
My grandparents called at 7:45 this morning and woke me with their singing and their vague platitudes about how happy they are that I'm happy and that being happy is really what matters in life. It took all my energy to agree with them. Their intentions were good.
Woke a second time to you carrying green tea and toast up the stairs to my attic bed. Nutella and banana slices. Your intentions were good, too, and you tried to cheer me by stretching that smile of yours wearily across your face and speaking in a tone of voice that was too positive and that I didn't recognize. I could see the effort this simple act entailed and it did nothing but depress me. Only your eyes told the truth and they were dull and vacant.
Then you were gone and I locked the door behind you. Stared in the mirror for awhile. Shaved my legs extra carefully. I changed my outfit twice. Looked at the phone which was not ringing.
I move as slow as molasses these days.
On the way to Neve Tzedek I had to stop for a smoothie. Two men were in line in front of me. I hated them for taking too long to decide. Carrot juice? Pomegranate juice? They reminded me of myself.
I regretted paying for a medium and didn't think I could finish it. Surprise, surprise, I did.
A woman on a bus bench was plucking her nose hairs out with a tiny magnifying mirror and a pair of rusty tweezers. It disgusted me until I spotted a man's very sad face through the window of a falafel shop and thought about him instead.
It is unbearably hot here.
My favorite table at the cafe was taken and I had to pause a long time before picking a new one.
You are late and don't call and I wonder where you are. Of course I am thinking of home again. It is my birthday and I wish I were not here.
I am twenty five years old.
I always thought I would be an actress when I grew up.
Now it would just be nice to be a child again.
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