The phone rings. The house phone. I'm in the shower. I hear it. My first impulse is to look at the door, make sure it's locked. That's my first impulse and I do it. I glance to the door knob, quickly and adjust my eyesight to see it locked and secured. I turn back to the showerhead, listening to the phone ring and ring, the water rushing out of the nozzle dulling the rings only slightly. The water is hot, maybe a little too hot for my taste, but I feel too lazy to reach over and lower the temperature. I can walk better today than I could last night. I've already taken an nap and I feel myself yawn for another. My legs are raw and sketchy, I'm not good to them. I'm not good to anything really. I'm not good. I don't know if I mind, I might. Speaking about it may show that I care somewhat, if not a lot. Pretending not to care feels a lot more like Procrastinating than anything. I'm sitting at the dining table littered with camera film and a fine assortment of junk food. I have a t-shirt on and blue underwear. Fresh out of the shower, but I still feel dirty. I can see the bathroom light still on down the hall and I cringe. There's the constant clicking of a hidden clock somewhere, keeping time, reminding me it's all passing me by. I could sit here and watch the shadows move. I could sit here and ignore the ants crawling around at my feet. I could keep telling myself I don't need any cereal right now, though that sounds amazing. And as I glance around I still don't know where the fucking clock is. When you walked out of my room last night I fell asleep. You probably weren't even to your car yet and I was gone. Today hasn't been bad, but I want to start over, maybe take a shower earlier. I'm wondering if eating some cereal will put me in a better mood, or if it's the book I'm reading that's making me feel irritable. It's odd how things affect me, like books and movies. I'll walk out of here with a different posture if it meant I was a part of something. If it meant I was a part of what I just witnessed or enjoyed. I have sick thoughts of being known. I have sick thoughts. There's somewhere to go tonight. There's stuff to happen, Why am I silently dreading it? Why? Why am I hungry? The shadows have moved and my shadow looks closer to the wall. I want company and a kitchen. I want reassurance. I want a thinner waist. I want a bowl of cereal. Fuck it, I'm havin' one. -Amanda