perhaps it was the hail that woke me and kept me awake most of the night; perhaps it was the impossible rain that fell in sheets and mists and big fat dollops througout the day. no matter. i woke up in the wrong skin yesterday, with my bones too long for my flesh and my joints creaking. all day i tried to play it off, blame it on hunger, on coffee, on too little sleep, but it was no use. all my laughter was brittle and sharp, all my silences guarded. he joked when he came over for dinner that i was finally comfortable enough to let my crazy out in front of him. i was pacing the kitchen, pacing the house, caged in my body as my mind crackled and spat like wet wood burning, smoke filling my eyes. he left without doing the dishes, and they sit there still, rotting. i'm better this morning, just an itching at the base of my neck and an ache that tells me to run. but i don't run. it's no use, and the sun is back today anyway.