Sometimes the alarm goes off and I press snooze like it actually says stop. Like it says TRY AGAIN ANOTHER DAY. Like the apocalypse is seconds away, so who really needs to get up and shower, you know? It's weird to be considered happy by everyone I know, when waking up feels a bit like failure. I am always looking for the right words— like, "Emotions are separate from depression." Like I am goofy and loud and laughing, but that doesn't negate the emptiness. Like a jack-o'-lantern is still hollow even it's smiling.

I know there is no right way to be alive, I know there is sometimes just this: Survival. And dirt. And crawling our way out of the thick of it. I know there is only this, my heart, and it's beating and how goddamn beautiful that really is. And then the confusion of not seeing beauty. Of not getting it. Of seeing art in a museum and wondering why everyone is in awe. 

You ever look at the ocean and not understand what you're supposed to be excited about? You ever wake up and press your finger and your chest and not understand how you are so alive but nothing feels like it?

Sometimes the alarm goes off, and I press snooze. But I still get up. That's something, right?

February 27, 2023.