Tonight

Tonight

Driving home I felt nauseous.

I'm not sure if it was due to the lack of sleep. Lack of Sunshine. Anxiety.

The fact that immediately after I told you "You look pretty tonight" I felt ashamed. Embarrassed. Like I was objectifying you.

Maybe it was the cigarette I smoked. Desperate for dopamine. It felt good, that first drag. Then it felt like nothing.

"Your hair...you just look really pretty tonight."

Doubling down. I've already said too much. Can't help myself, can't stop. What am I looking for here? Them to tell me, "Why thank you! You just made my day!"

No. Not everyone is fishing for unwanted compliments. Especially not after 19 hours of enduring another day.

My mind feels heavy. My body feels worn. Clutching the steering wheel, driving home in silence, I feel alone.

I tried calling two friends who live on the West Coast, hoping to vent about my day. My week, though it's only Tuesday, feels like it's dragging. Everything feels hard.

I wanted to tell them what I felt when I told you you were pretty, the absolute indifference in your voice.

"Maybe it's because I shaved and I look five years younger."

But instead I'm met with silence. And I'm still nauseous.

The cigarette, it's making you feel sick. Why did you think this would bring you relief? Why do you reach for the things that can kill you?

You'd think by now I'd be comfortable being uncomfortable. But it's already been a long winter. And my routine has been shattered. And I made the mistake of taking on more and more to keep myself busy. I forget to finish the things I've started. I get frustrated when things get hard. I fail to practice, practice getting better.

It takes practice. All I need is practice.

I talked to myself, driving home tonight, as my stomach turned and my chest grew tight.

You can do this, you can do this. It's gotta be the cigarette.