bexie

I walked home on the yellow line in the middle of the road. In the basement, stick-thin women are eating sliced fruit and cake, and talking about their upcoming marathon; one of them is my mother. I envy them their muscles and determination while I ache from only four hours on my feet. When I left work tonight there was still some light in the sky and that made me feel optimistic, and reading Into The Wild on the bus ride home turned this to a sort of warm melancholy. That may have been why I wanted to walk on the yellow line.