my glass heart
So. It is 2006.
A bright new shiny year.
Full of potential.
In a bright new shiny apartment. No more crazy landlords. No more crazy roommates. Just me. The bed. The desk. I sold off most of the furniture in the enormous storage unit I just about called home. No more storage. Not ever. It is a rule. I alternate between so much relief and just being happy I am here — And black moods. Sad sad black. Partly because I have a cold. Have had a cold for weeks now. This damn cold will not go away. That is not because I smoke either no fresh email lectures I know non-smokers who have had this cold longer. Partly because I am living without animals for the first time in 16 years and that is a strange void that echoes all the time around me. “No life. No life. No life.” It will not go away. And I dream Jones. When I buried him, he made a noise. And I dream he is still alive. I know he was not. I was there when he died. I know that was just air in a body. But I dream he is. Buried in the ground alive. Those are bad dreams. And partly because I gave my heart to a guy. And he promptly shipped it back to me in a slightly used cardboard box. That box is in better shape than my heart. That box is cardboard. Cardboard can take a lot of abuse. Postal workers. Fed ex guys. Stray squirrel attacks. Cardboard will hold up. Not my heart. My heart does not ship so well. I need a better box.
Your Send Better Boxes Adams Girl