On a Friday morning, the best I can do is

On a Friday morning the best I can do is take a deep breath and feel the tightness where my lungs forgot how to breathe and wait for them to open; watch how a hot cup of coffee makes curls of steam, better than a three-D, live-action Van Goh; crack the crick out of my spine and listen to the traffic whir on the pavement; pull back a thin white cotton curtain — outside is damp from a misty rain; forget that my hair will be all crazy today because hello, humidity; listen to the ceiling fan click click click where the pull-string thwacks the light fixture; wonder if this is a sneeze, wonder if this is a sneeze; no sneeze; ponder last night’s smudgy wine glass still on the coffee table — and start this day.

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