The First Few Minutes

It would seem fitting, then, to wake up in a feverish state of half-hallucination and never know what was real for the first few minutes or so. A thick layer of cinnamon and dough, a thicker layer of Campari, an icing of greasy cheese. I was supposed to meet you but even I don't like being around myself like this, and I'm around myself all the time.

You said you'd call and I said I'd answer. I didn't watch the pot and hope that it would boil over. But I've always kept one eye trained to spot the simmer, to flitter around and hope for the rest of me. I had enough to deal with in my stomach, on the couch, the lines on my face. I needed a nap, a shower, an ice water, a nightcap, a good night's sleep, a run, a salad, more fruit, more tea, more tonic, more time. I need to give away my cell phone chargers, the extras, so I have only one, and that one I need to hide. So I can let it die and realize that things will go on tomorrow even if they stop tonight.