of the Ostrich

An entire day of endless hours spent in bed, spent in stages of undress and disarray. Incessantly distracted by the computer screen, drifting in and out of sleep, letting the remains of alcohol seep out of my system. The hangover carries uncomfortable questions my mind is not yet ready to handle; the apathy allows me refuge for a few hours still.

You know the questions will catch up with you eventually. You know the night will leave dents in your seamless composure and haunt you for days yet to come. Short film reels of jagged moments will play themselves on your inner screen and you cannot close your eyes to them. So if now, for one rainy, cold Sunday when the world expects nothing of you, you decide to close the drapes to your inner turmoil... perhaps you can be forgiven, still.