i meant to be a poem, but i wrote this instead.

This morning I woke up feeling so sad and I don’t know why, except I use the term “morning” loosely because it was 11:30 and it’s Sunday and I woke up so sad. I haven’t felt like this in months, that big heavy ache like the universe crouched on my hollow chest and my bones refusing to break. Even though I think that would be a relief, like finally scratching a rash bloody after it’s driven you to the brink of insanity.

This morning I woke up sad because it’s Sunday and I thought you might be there, pressed against my back but it was just a pillow and I hate waking up alone with nothing to occupy me. So I occupy myself with sunshine and cigarettes and 16 blocks to the coffee shop. I feel lonely now, which isn’t the same as alone because I’m sitting here with other human beings who drink coffee and listen to the Beatles. I wonder how many of them are heavy the way I am heavy, even though it’s Sunday and the sun is shining and it’s summertime which means happy.  It’s supposed to mean happy, isn’t it?

There’s no reason to be sad except maybe I was too happy last night. Like happiness pools in a reservoir filled by a dripping faucet and it accumulates slowly and usually I can be patient but last night I drank too deeply. Now I feel dry and hollow like old bones, like a turkey carcass after Thanksgiving when everybody overindulges and we call it a celebration and the carcass ends up in the garbage with a sealable lid so the dogs don’t choke on the bones.

Or maybe it’s not like that at all.

Last night I celebrated because I exist in a body. I can be strong and capable with two legs and lungs like white sheets on a clothesline billowing full of air, and eyes that aren’t afraid. I have a mouth that forms words and sometimes they make sense and even if they don’t there are people who don’t care. They let me be a person who either talks, or doesn’t talk and it won’t matter because they love me. They let me exist, even on a dance floor wearing a tutu and my running shoes, which smell like too many miles.

It’s Sunday and today I woke up sad. I don’t know why except “happy” isn’t a lifestyle, it’s an oasis: a place you can’t stay forever because maybe if you keep moving tomorrow you’ll make it out of the desert.  I don’t know what to say now, except I feel better as a footnote than a punchline. 

That doesn’t have anything to do with deserts or water, but it makes sense in its own way too.