I wake up. Check my phone. It is 7:28 am.
The January weather waits for me to roll over before laughing its dulled sunshine through my curtains.
I keep forgetting there's another half to this bed. I keep hoping it isn't colder than balls when I roll over.
But it is. It always is.
At 8:44 I wake up again. These naps, like me, are both sad and accidental.
At 9:36 my phone vibrates me back towards consciousness. It's my sister; she asks me if I can check the mail for a package she ordered.
I agree with the intention of doing it immediately, and as I drop my phone back onto my bed after I send the message, my body decides to do the same.
At some point, I imagine I'll at least get up to pee.
At 12:59 in the Goddam afternoon, I raise my head for the first time in hours. I snap four different people the same half-of-my-face picture with the caption, "Come nap with me"
At 1:40 I wake up for the last fucking time. She is out there, living her best fucking life and I, I am lying here wallowing in this half empty shell of leftover prozac and sweat.
How am I sweating? It's freezing and I literally haven't moved in hours.
At 4 pm my bladder finally pulls me towards the restroom.
I make quick work of relieving myself, washing my hands, and debating whether or not I am going to feed myself today.
My bear of a puppy has destroyed my kitchen.
Paper plates I didn't know I had are hurricaned across the floor and I am saddened to realize that my daily neglect stretches beyond my own health and well-being.
She is a puppy, max. She needs someone to play with her, feed her, protect her, and love her.
You may not be able to do this for yourself, but you don't need yourself. Not like she needs you.
I sweep together her mess. She sits in the corner and watches. She is fed. She is warm.
I go get the mail.
On my way back down my street, I choose to ignore my lowering bodily temperature.
My house feels empty.
I feel empty.
At 2:49 am I write this poem. Go to sleep, max. You have class in a few hours.