Yesterday.

Good morning, my name is Tressa. This is the first day of the rest of my fucking life. Outside, there are loud chickens, screaming from behind the fence. Mishka is pawing at her bone, trying to pull an elusive treat out of its hollow center, where Casey shoved it before he left to skateboard. There is a wax stain on the tablecloth I sewed. There is a passing ambulance. There are two cinnamon buns growing cold on a baking dish next to the stove. There is warm coffee in the pot, and cold coffee in my mug, the green mug, which I do not like.

Today I am thinking of taking Mishka for a walk. I am thinking about going to the bookstore, or the library, but the thought is also exhausting. I am thinking of going to the art store, or walking, or staying.

I wonder what other people do all day. I wonder if I should cut my fingernails.

Other things I’m considering are: turning the tablecloth to hide the stain, making small books with scrap paper, going back to sleep. I don’t think that’s an option because I’ve had too much coffee, and besides, if I sleep in the middle of the day, I’ll wake up with a headache.