Today she is like a confused mess of overdone spaghetti. Mangled, hard and lumpy. And wanting to hide under the lid. The strange yet familiar emptiness is back. Not the unhappy one that causes tightness in her chest. But one that makes her dizzy after retching. Like something bad is over but not sure what happened instead, was good either. There is a faint surge of anticipation too. Like something good is happening but not immediately apparent. So the dancing rain drops on the glass didn’t excite like always. The lunch didn’t prompt animated conversation. The tasks just sat on her desktop waiting for her attention. The promise of a surprise at home didn’t enthuse as much. All she wants is to get in bed and pull the blanket over her head like when they were children, imagining they have disappeared from the world for a while. If only wishes were fireflies…