On the days that I can't even roll over in bed without an internal sigh so deep it would rival the heave of the shuddering earth and you ask me why dinner is still cooking and the drier is fluffing and the dishes are crusting and the dust is still lying and my lashes are bare and my hair is unkempt as the sheets on the bed... On these days when I go to work anyway before you wake up and I get home after you (you're sleeping on the couch) and pick up after you and serve myself after you and you still think to ask about the undone things that your eyes see so well... On these days with these questions and that look in your eyes it's all I can do to set my jaw, smile, and say: "I just haven't..."