mostly sitting, eating raw green beans split at the seam. in bed i pull muscles reaching for a glass of water, cigarette, pen. try ten times to write a letter to andrew. ten more times tracing & retracing illegible print to be sent to a man in tennessee whose name is josh or jon or here is a picture of me & my wife. i dont look at the pictures. i dont reread the emails once they’re on their way when they are on their way which is rare. how to say today i did when i missed the train, in my sleeplessness haze, waltzed into class late, to the glare of an assistant professor you look glazed. leave & smoke in the tunnel with the parking attendant who thinks my name is evelyn. the letters dont get sent. i pet the cat till she smells like my hand.

ive been in a bad mood for two weeks. to celebrate i bought a party dress. black shot silk, straight to the knee. wearing it, no one should be surprised if i act like a bitch.

this morning, smoking on the porch naked beneath my coat, a woman approached wanting to know about the house for sale. my daughter wants to live here. i mentioned the leaky faucets, poor insulation, windows that refuse to open. when she asked about the neighborhood, though, i didn’t know what to say. this was not the conversation i wanted to have smoking on the porch, naked beneath my coat.

in developmental psych, we talk a lot about prenatal care. the dangers of cigarettes, alcohol, inconclusive evidence re: weed. basically, researchers agree any smoke is negative. i raise my hand sincerely wondering vaporizers, cookies, brownies? to which the teach corners me after class something you wish to tell me, elizabeth? as if not skipping class was already not difficult enough.