mostly nonsense

CCXLV.

I’ve got so many fucking feelings that they pour out of me unasked; on buses I sit tucked between button-down briefcase businessmen and sniffle into my sleeve. If they notice, they say nothing. They just want to get to their cars, you know, get home to a family and a warm meal, or maybe just a dog and a beer. Either way, they’ll forget about the girl who cried on the bus easily enough. So will I, as soon as I switch trains of thought.

This is different.

It doesn’t set in that I’m sad with a capital S until I lie to my mother. My brother wrote me a letter to say he’s been wearing my sweater, maybe I want to frame it. T-shirt weather strikes in November, and I’m angry at the heat. I’ve made new friends. They watch Saturday Night Live with me, neon glow in a dark living room, and don’t laugh when I reveal my long-standing crush on Bill Hader. I agree to all their plans. I’d still rather be a warm body in the passenger seat, eating rapidly cooling McDonald’s french fries, and laughing at my long-standing crush on Bill Hader. He’s got a dumb face anyway.

I am sad with a capital S. I’ll make too much for dinner and eat it all. I’ll make plans and forget them. I’ll fall asleep on the couch at 8 pm, wake with my contacts vacuum sealed to my eyes. Back to sleep. Repeat tomorrow. Repeat. I need to go home. Repeat.