at work this morning, in the bathroom fleeing dirty dishes and soapsuds and customers asking, miss, do you think i can get a refill?, in the bathroom, door locked, leaning against a wall breathing deeply, i open my eyes and my face in the mirror is old and strange.
i need to get more sleep.
i'm jealously protective of my apartment, snapping at the hipsters who come in to sign their lease while i'm hungover at the kitchen table in my underwear, eating peanut butter from the jar.
some nights our noses lead us in the right directions, and those quiet hopeful gatherings become loud parties where we can eat cookies and curry and sit on the porch till we get too cold, wander inside to get lost and then dance while someone throws baby powder over us in great rolling clouds so the next morning we'll wake groggy and snowy white.
(& some nights we'll walk through pish posh neighborhoods avoiding each other's stupidly welling eyes, lashing out with these painful things we never even mean, or really remember. some nights you dumb-drunk smash glasses in the bedroom, boozy breath on my ear in the morning.)
i was tongue-tied all day till our nighttime countertop exultations.
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