Sat down to write this morning. It’s later now. Was nagged into cleaning passively – I guess I’ll have to clean because I’ll have to ask you too many times to do it. Do you got receipts? Have you run the data analysis? Damn. Seriously. Responds I’m just talking out loud. But why does it feel that I’m being undercut and you play the role of the martyr? We clean. She’s annoyed, I know because she is whistling to herself.
I pout too. As I hold it in my nose twitches. Not my whole nose. Just the strip where breathe strips go. The twitch is more an irregular bounce. It happens more and more, the burying of emotions into twitchy muscles. Healthy outlets are few. Unhealthy options are plenty. Options, not outlets. Options keeps burying, ignoring, and isolating the truth. Guess the twitch is the truth wanting to get out, but I’m too caught up in my feelings for that.
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