headliner

this week i play housewife. lay your clothes out, set the table, greet you at the stairs with a smile, pray, hope, twist my hair into curls and stare, vapidly at myself in the mirror for hours. i play games in my head, scattered pentagrams and rainbow boxes thrown about classrooms at 1 in the afternoon, early sunshine and the days end earlier lately, cold has set in and i find myself making nests for myself, none of which i fit in or keep me nearly warm enough. im not ready for harsh winter and sleepy weekends with nowhere to go and no reason to get out of bed. i pad around the apartment, doing dishes, making elaborate dinners and cakes, anything to distract myself from this, this this mess im in, i will be in until im not, and i just dont have the will power right now to get up and shake it off. im trying, im trying, im trying. and it just isnt good enough. planes fly over head and crash in the night fifteen states away and no one hears a sound. i dont know why i ever thought i could have a family, make a home, why i thought id be good at something like that, when i get restless and unsure after ten minutes alone. riding the bus is like torture and im continuously only alone with myself.
i dont remember the last time my fingers were so cold, and my bones and getting chills and i layer sweatshirts and rub my nose with the sleeves, hands tucked inside and dream about shrinking into coats and scarves and december and hibernating away like a bear. except maybe i was cold like this in oregon, but i was with you and so i felt nothing bad at all.