Why Are We Like This?

The alarm drags me up from light into exhausted darkness, and I struggle to keep my eyes open as my dreams turn into a ghost.

The entire day, generosity deserts me, and I am hard and unhelpful, knowing I am hard and unhelpful, and not knowing how to stop.

On the stuffed, stuffy subway, two women nearly throw down in front of the door, and I mutter, "Too crowded for that shit."

Is it the weather, or is it me, or is it me and everyone else and the weather?

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One year ago today: Blowdart
Two years ago today: To My Shame
Three years ago today: Holding on to Disappointment