indulgence

 

It's not that it's dark 

It's blank 

Force yourself up, say fuck, work all day, try to catch up on chores, fall further behind 

Do it again 

My Dad's book said, Chop wood. Carry water. 

There can be dignity here. 

I do not embody it. 

My Dad is I refuse to write it.

In my mind I'm drunk and chain smoking on the bank of a river 

I write the script / I am drinking 

I draft the report / I am drinking 

I tend the garden / cigarette smoke seeps from the hair follicles on my arms

Externally she is keeping things together 

Her Mom never missed a day of work 

Are you getting back to normal?

It has been three months. 

It has been so long. 

I do not remember what normal felt like. 

Is gratitude the same as joy? 

I'm so fucking sad