I didn't want to get out of bed today. I think I slept more than I was awake.
Curled up in a ball, bare knees to my chest, red hair splayed, face pressed against the sheet, coverlet above my head. Moist air in and out and in again. I felt so small.
When the heat clicked on, the ancient vertical blinds on my window began to flutter, sending flashing stripes of light across the beigey-red carpet.
I don't think I dreamt a whole lot. I just thought in long, rambly circles until I drifted off into nothingness. Sometimes I really wonder how I look through other peoples' eyes. Am I a girl full of false self-assurances, smaller than her words, softer than her tone? Or a tank, rolling over everyone else's thoughts? Someone direct, pragmatic, as cutting as a surgeon's scalpel? Or a fleeting, insubstantial shiny thing, just a piece of fluttering confetti, pretty, no substance. Or the girl with all the hopes, but also the one who will settle for an ordinary life? Am I just so self-posessed, in love with my mirror? Of all the people I know, I'm sure that someone sees each of these girls in me. But they don't make a whole.
It's funny that I'm so self-assured, but I always want to know how you see me. Because really, I don't think anybody sees me quite the way I am. I'm not sure that I even see me quite the way I am.
Mike called at about 5 am this morning. He was coming back from DC, where he'd been celebrating his best friend's birthday. I always tell him to call when he's in, no matter the hour. I worry so much. But he told me that he was coming back, and in my sleep-draggled state, all I could say is, "No you're not. You're asleep on my couch." Maybe I was dreaming about it. Maybe it was something else, I'm not sure. Because a few nights ago, he was sleeping on my couch. We'd had some stupid fight over something that I can't even remember now. He'd gone to sleep on the couch, and I never could sleep when there was something wrong.
I'd crept downstairs, restlessly sat in the leather armchair, and that failing, tried to sleep on the loveseat, and then the carpet. The minutes past. I could hear every sound in the aparment, every rustle of sheets, every restless breath. The silence was suffocating me. At 5 am, I went back upstairs, frustrated, and began to tear apart my closet looking for some sheet music. Anything to destract me. I found it too quickly, and then was left alone again with my thoughts and my empty arms.
At about 5:30, I crept downstairs again, naked, shivering without a blanket. With the semi-light of the parking lot filtering through the blinds, I could only make out vague shadows and irregular rectangular light boxes on the wall. I sat down next to sleeping Mike on the thin sofa, and he slowly opened his eyes. And I just started crying. Sobbing quietly. I felt like I was going insane, like I was being eaten up from the inside. I felt like I should be able to control myself, to make it stop, but I just couldn't.
And he asked me if we should go upstairs, and I nodded and leaned into his shoulder. His arms folded around me. My body shook. But within moments of being back in bed, my head resting in the niche beneath his chin, the sniffling stopped and I was fast asleep. I don't think that many people see that girl, the girl who falls apart, who needs to be put back together. But she's there.
Curled up in a ball, bare knees to my chest, red hair splayed, face pressed against the sheet, coverlet above my head. Moist air in and out and in again. I felt so small.
When the heat clicked on, the ancient vertical blinds on my window began to flutter, sending flashing stripes of light across the beigey-red carpet.
I don't think I dreamt a whole lot. I just thought in long, rambly circles until I drifted off into nothingness. Sometimes I really wonder how I look through other peoples' eyes. Am I a girl full of false self-assurances, smaller than her words, softer than her tone? Or a tank, rolling over everyone else's thoughts? Someone direct, pragmatic, as cutting as a surgeon's scalpel? Or a fleeting, insubstantial shiny thing, just a piece of fluttering confetti, pretty, no substance. Or the girl with all the hopes, but also the one who will settle for an ordinary life? Am I just so self-posessed, in love with my mirror? Of all the people I know, I'm sure that someone sees each of these girls in me. But they don't make a whole.
It's funny that I'm so self-assured, but I always want to know how you see me. Because really, I don't think anybody sees me quite the way I am. I'm not sure that I even see me quite the way I am.
Mike called at about 5 am this morning. He was coming back from DC, where he'd been celebrating his best friend's birthday. I always tell him to call when he's in, no matter the hour. I worry so much. But he told me that he was coming back, and in my sleep-draggled state, all I could say is, "No you're not. You're asleep on my couch." Maybe I was dreaming about it. Maybe it was something else, I'm not sure. Because a few nights ago, he was sleeping on my couch. We'd had some stupid fight over something that I can't even remember now. He'd gone to sleep on the couch, and I never could sleep when there was something wrong.
I'd crept downstairs, restlessly sat in the leather armchair, and that failing, tried to sleep on the loveseat, and then the carpet. The minutes past. I could hear every sound in the aparment, every rustle of sheets, every restless breath. The silence was suffocating me. At 5 am, I went back upstairs, frustrated, and began to tear apart my closet looking for some sheet music. Anything to destract me. I found it too quickly, and then was left alone again with my thoughts and my empty arms.
At about 5:30, I crept downstairs again, naked, shivering without a blanket. With the semi-light of the parking lot filtering through the blinds, I could only make out vague shadows and irregular rectangular light boxes on the wall. I sat down next to sleeping Mike on the thin sofa, and he slowly opened his eyes. And I just started crying. Sobbing quietly. I felt like I was going insane, like I was being eaten up from the inside. I felt like I should be able to control myself, to make it stop, but I just couldn't.
And he asked me if we should go upstairs, and I nodded and leaned into his shoulder. His arms folded around me. My body shook. But within moments of being back in bed, my head resting in the niche beneath his chin, the sniffling stopped and I was fast asleep. I don't think that many people see that girl, the girl who falls apart, who needs to be put back together. But she's there.
Current Music: Heather excitedly telling a story in the next room.
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