Sunday Funday

I am sad. I feel heavy. I am drinking coffee in bed, debating on whether to go back to bed. I know I shouldn’t. I slept a full 9 hours, yet my bed feels warm and enticing, familiar and safe. I wouldn’t mind escaping for an hour or two. What am I trying to escape? An open Sunday with nothing to do? A nap wouldn’t hurt anyone. I’d probably stay out of trouble. There aren’t any calories in sleep. And not consuming calories is always the right thing to do. I need to lose 20 pounds anyway. I don’t look like the rest of you do. My body is odd and doesn’t fit in. 

I don’t want to sleep. I don’t think I can anyway. Get off the phone. Get off the internet. But that girl on Instagram is so pretty. Why can’t I be like her? Girl? You mean, woman. You’re not a girl anymore. Look around. Your friends are married with kids. Well, at least the ones on the internet. Your real friends, they’re like you. They get it. But they’re not here. You are alone in bed with your internet friends and their lives are better than yours. 

Put the phone away and get up. Drink your coffee and pull yourself together. You can’t be weak. You’ve been weak. That time is up. You put yourself out there, and now you need to be strong. People are watching. Looking at your moves. Observing you grow up. Waiting to see what’s next. 

I don’t know what’s next. My coffee is almost gone.