It's impossible to not feel pressed. Trapped in room, the walls getting soft, misshapen.
The heat can really get you down. Everything expanding. For days, I tried to do it
right, just so. Wear the right thing, self-care, effort, and chopping vegetables small
and perfectly, putting all the special things in salad. All the time on these drugs,
all the time disease. Wondering, who are you? Weeks, maybe months now go by, and
here I am further from you, in the air conditioned room with the cat and the blood
stains on the sheets and I feel so sick that I don’t know how to move you any more
or for the past little while or for right now. That I am unmovable.
