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
