Going through the motions
I wake up, sober, which happens now with alarming frequency, and find my way to the bathroom with much effort and more expletives. I have no mind to brush my hair and to be brutally honest, I only bother with the teeth to avoid another harrowing visit to the dentist. There are only so many ways a girl wants to be drilled and that, surely, is not one of them. Makeup; most likely not. I pop some plastic on my fingers and saturate my sweater with my signature scent. It’s a two minute process from dream to door though lately I linger, for no reason in particular, more an effort to enjoy the morning. Wasted energy; there are some things you cannot train yourself to like. Smoke in hand, after a heavy dose of albuterol, I log into MySpace which is always an exercise in futility, as if one day, much unlike the 798 previous, there will be something there of consequence, of substance, of anything other than one night stands and far away friends and people whose names I probably never knew. Today is no different; sign off, stand up, say farewell to the cats who never even know I’m gone, save for an empty water bowl from time to neglectful time. And so begins another day…
