Member-only story
Like the Steam
I fought the urge to sit down tonight.
To have another blue lighted screen stare back at me in disappointment for any minute longer would ruin me. Mainly my eyes.
My head pounds as a hammer to a nail head, but my head lies beneath the nail.
By now, I’ve drank three cups of bedtime tea and I haven’t slept a wink; it’s been hours since my final cup. Perhaps they meant that the tea would be a great beverage to drink while in bed, curled up with a good book.
I always had a difficult time taking into consideration the fine print.
This morning I awoke with my head in the clouds, not in a sense of daze, but in a sense of clouded, stuffed, and tensed.
What is a head cold.
After pushing myself to the bakery — I had to have an almond croissant before locking myself away for some time — I took a trip to the nearest market for a hopeful bag of fruits and veggies…I forgot my reusable.
As the life began to slowly make its way back into me joyously picking out the finest oranges, lemons, and limes, I wandered the market a bit to find a dried packaged fish. I wondered if the hook was still in his mouth.
The checkout lady watched as my oranges began to roll when I placed them on the counter; without hesitation, she began scanning…
