on the day the world ends

i think about if i want to be there, as if i have a choice in the matter.

maybe i will get up and put the banana in the blender like i always do, protein powder, chia seeds, what other powders and things meant to make my body alkaline or help with muscle recovery, the things that won’t matter at the end of it all.

maybe i will actually walk the dogs to the golf course and let them off leash. it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t matter. come home and open my laptop to look at emails that also don’t matter. put on headphones, turn off the podcast. it’s not the time for voices that aren’t Shakey Graves singing about rolling bones.

on the day the world ends i’ll climb into bed, under the covers, with my headphones and take a nap knowing i’m done with existing. i don’t know if it’s sad or just real that this is a familiar feeling.

i am done.

heavy. i sink. the foam takes my form. the sheet is worn threadbare where my butt is because i flip around several times during the night, like a little sausage trying to brown evenly in the pan. my husband groaning as if to say “make up your mind” as he rolls away.

omg jeff.

omg i’m married.

omg. i don’t want this part to be over.