Folsom Prison Blues

I woke up last night feeling nauseated, displaced, and curled up on the floor with baby banana food mixed up in my hair, somehow. On my body I wore cowgirl boots, jeans, white top, a blue flannel, pink lipstick and my hair was teased tall.

Allie had taken my car for a spin last night. Prior to that, I had been feeling awful and introverted.

The more I woke up from it, the worse I felt emotionally. I was overwhelmed with depression and an odd sense of loneliness. It grew loud, I couldn’t think of what to do next. I became very clumsy and tripped over the sofa. I decided to lay in bed. There, I curled up and cried for a long time. I lost track of time and woke up at 1 am, sitting in bed, eyes still swollen from crying. Again, at 3:30 am. Again, at 4:30 am- each time “coming to” in an upright position, clutching my knees, in tears.

I was craving love- but the kind of love in which I could be held tightly, kissed repeatedly until it was impossible to breathe, and to be told infinitely that everything would be alright. Unfortunately, space and time limited the amount of affection I could receive from my girlfriend. My dogs were my only physical comfort.

Somewhere in between dream-states and imagination, I roved through vivid memories of my abuse, of my old apartment, my old house. I was 5, I was 10, 16, 18, 20. All at once yet also spread out.

I’m sick today- sore throat, stuffy nose, lethargic feeling. I miss my girlfriend even though she’s only 50 feet away from me at work. I want to spend an entire day in bed, sleeping, next to her, waking up only when she shifts her body. Warmth, safety, familiarity, home.

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