It’s been a week since I’ve last brushed my teeth (do ice peppermint Halls count?) and probably longer since I’ve even checked the handles on my shower.
My hair is in knots (I didn’t think it could get this ratty when it’s so short) and I can’t nervously run my fingers through my bangs anymore.
My chest hurts and I’ve spent so long laid out on my back that I don’t think my little legs can carry me up anymore. My head won’t even support itself anymore; I can sense it wobbling back and forth as I type.
I can stomach soup and crackers but anything else feels too heavy, like it’s blowing my stomach up to proportions even I can’t grasp.
My pajamas are the same ones I wore last Saturday to bed.
I am gross. I am pathetic. I am dirty and a mess of balled up hair and dried up tears and shriveled up dreams.
But, today I was going to call you.
So I got up.
And brushed my teeth, hair, and put on new sweatpants.
I ate breakfast; a feast of cereal and citrus fruits.
And then showered, all the while rebrushing my teeth.
When I finished, I blowdried my hair (the first time in 13 days), the warmth of the dryer making me smile.
I got to curl up in bed with tea and my laptop and enjoy your face. Finally.
This is a once in a lifetime feeling.
This is purity and wholesome love in its finest, rawest state.I will drink -- no, chug -- it faster than my tea, devour it faster than my nectarine, crave it harder than I crave the feeling of my mattress against the flat of my back.