What it's really like to have a pot-bellied pig as a pet.

Today I'm not ok. 
I'm tired. 
I drank some coffee and hugged M for 15 seconds but it didn't help. 

My mother said I looked tired.
I said thank-you. 
She asked me if I was angry, that I seemed angry. I said no. 
Unless I am, am I?

I drove her home. 
Maybe singing will help.
Maybe deep breathing will help. 
Now I'm at work and I'm warm. 
Am I getting sick?

Is it because yesterday I decided out of the blue that I didn't do enough to help my friend who was troubled?
Like, no where near enough.
I should have done so much more. 
I was afraid and uncomfortable and selfish. 
That's the reality. 
I like to think if faced with the same situation I will have learned how to not be those things. 
I cried. 
The weight in my chest is heavy. 
Sometimes my heart rate feels extra skippy.
Is it the luteal phase?
Is it perimenopause?

It's just a grumpy monkey day I guess. 
That's a book Henry likes. 
He doesn't know why, he's just grumpy. 

I'm having a hard time concentrating. 
I don't think I should speak to people, or leave this room. 

I feel like fighting in the comments. 
I feel like making these feelings come alive.