I’m not quite sure what I call this one.
outside my window there is
little more than grey drizzle
on gritty snow; this purgatory,
not quite winter, but not yet spring,
stifles any attempt to live in it.
this brown snow is winter’s spray tan,
a sad attempt to hang onto a passing season;
wrinkled at the eyes, forehead and lips,
caked in foundation and false eyelashes.
© Bridget Noonan, 2011.
Feel like crap today. I dragged myself into work after an attempt to call in sick. Apparently puking off and on all morning is a picnic, and I am an indispensable cog for the machine leading up to zombie Jesus day. Never mind that staying home and resting will ensure that I’ll be 100% for Saturday’s insanity.
Whatever, fuck it. I’m going to sleep.