the clouds in the sky make a nice backdrop to stare at as the tip of the cigarette held lightly between my fingers puts off enough light to see absolutely nothing, yet there's still some abient lighting coming from god knows where that allows me to differentiate between the darker portions of the clouds and the lighter ones against the hills in the distance and the scenery of my neighborhood. all i can think is how i need nothing more than to get out. throw a suitcase in the trunk and put the pedal to the metal and go until i see the familiar streets i once hated but now long for with every second of my day. i see a flash of blueish light in the sky far off and smile to myself, keeping an ear open in case that gentle rumble comes along seconds later. it doesn't. i'm disappointed and wish the heavens would open up and pour down on me, then i'd feel a physical version of what washes over me every morning upon waking. the owners of the house keep a food and water dish out for the stray cats so they'll stick around and keep the mice out of the house. the cat runs away from everyone when they get within two feet, but as i'm standing in the driveway staring at the sky, it starts rubbing against my calves and walking between them. i know it's trying to play with me, find some companionship other than the stray kitten that appeared a few days ago and suddenly i feel a strange connection to it. walking to the edge of the driveway is a bit of a task, i'm swaying and walking in a zig-zag, certainly wouldn't pass a sobriety test if i ran into a cop. the remainder of my cigarette is plunged into the dirt to extinguish the smoldering and covered up by a rock before i make my way back inside the house. the cat follows me to the steps and takes off in the other direction but as i turn around inside the doorway to close it, i see the cat staring up at me as if to ask if it could come inside and keep me company. if i were a cat, i'd be this cat. i don't even bother washing my hands at this point - the baby is asleep and i don't feel like making more noise than necessary and drawing attention to myself with the noise that comes along with the faucet. instead, i put on my 'pajamas' as to avoid being detected with the smell of burnt paper and chemicals and because at some point in the near future i plan on attempting to sleep. i consider taking the sleeping pills i was given last summer but i fear i wouldn't wake up if the baby started crying, so i self-medicate instead, it puts me to sleep just as easily. counting back the days, this makes seven in a row, but somehow i'm not bothered. in fact, i find it almost funny in a way - anything to distract from how big a problem it's becoming. "just living is a struggle," the tv says of a man with a horrible genetic disfiguration, and i have to laugh at how i relate, if only in a different way. surely his physical and mental pain is no match for what i feel i am "suffering" from, but i know nothing else so i can't be so hard on myself. that's my hardest lesson, the one i can never seem to learn. i wonder when i'll ever learn that it's ok to not be perfect. i'm far from it, but constantly beat myself up over not doing things the way i should each and every day. my head seems to become more and more magnetized to the couch cushion as the night drags on, but i can't find the strength or energy to drag myself to bed. by the time i get there, i slowly crawl into bed, trying to make the least amount of noise possible, only to be disappointed in the results.