I have to measure the success of the day in a pot of beans and folded laundry. The rest of me is aching with inactivity and artificial air. Right now I honestly cannot separate the way I feel from the way I've been acting like I feel. This couch is a sinkhole, and my husband will be out at a gig til late, late, late. I am not today the girl who could go along.
No comments:
Post a Comment