I turned out the light for what seemed the fifth time tonight and as the last millisecond of bright light imprinted on my eyeballs I fell back onto the tangled bedsheets and stacked pillows and felt the heavy East Texas summer heat stick to my arms and back and neck and the fans blew off what the cool sheets didn’t melt away and for a split second I was 23 years old living in that old, no air-conditioning, 3 bedroom house with 3 other girls, none of whom lay any particular claim to any particular bedroom or closet or item of clothing. I’ve always been fond of humidity. Probably because of that.
A lot happened today.
And I became disturbed. But I haven’t figured out what to make of it or how to express it. I started to write “or whether I even need to express it,” but need is irrelevant.