fire and ice

I still don't know how to deal with migraines that aren't mine, or surprise parties, or the crusty, sticky way I feel when I wake from a twilight nap. I know that this is not supposed to be a chore, this sweet low-stress job, the warm house in the height of winter, the jumping bean coworker, the one who puts his arm around me and squeezes my shoulder, the roommates who bake chocolate chip cookies and mop the floor even when it's my turn. But doesn't the ease of it all exhaust you?