Super Crank

The Weeping Willow, with a melancholy name but remarkable beauty. When I was a girl, there was one across the street, in the Licaris' yard. Its name always makes me think of my brother, Will--though he doesn't weep. Here in Clifton, there are many and they are beautiful. But what do I care? It's nighttime, so I can't see them. And I'm cranky.

Warning: Depressing Content. Proceed with caution. 
[Already ruined my own day. Don't want to ruin yours, too.]

Cranky. So very, very, very cranky. Mean. Mad. Don't like the woman I see in the condo mirror. She looks bad. Don't like her shirt, either. Ask me another day--tomorrow, even--and I might like it. But not tonight.

Hateful. Hard. Ugly way to feel. Not pretty at all.

Bread haze. Ate too much. Can't do that. White carbs=heavy haze.

Don't like myself, or anyone else. Even my best friend, the fluffy white ball of fur, is on my bad side. Poor Sug. What a hateful person I am, I'm even mad at her.

Rainy Monday night. Want to read, rest. Get lost in mindless TV, which I never do anymore. But must do some work first. Emails to send, messages to leave, things to print out.

Overwhelmed. Out of sync. Need a hand. But not drowning. Don't need hand to save me, just to know it's there.

As my mother used to say when feeling overwrought [I remember once near her white sliding-door closet in the bedroom], God give me grace. 


Sorry, I warned you. It must feel strange to read this stuff. Thank you for being there.