i suppose i could reflect on the times where i would not leave my bed, even if my muscles got sore. perhaps that could be the reason i never stood on a scale. yesterday's bruises are far too familiar. for some reason, they feel as sharp as today's and tomorrow's. despite what they say, i don't think it ever really goes away. you could say i chose this for myself. it's all a matter of perspective, right? somehow external becomes internal regarding my excuses. perhaps it's all of the bitter coffee and burnt spaghetti noodles. i should stop talking about the things that make me anxious. i always had to cover my mouth when i laughed and maybe that's why i have rotten stained teeth. there was always that wonder about why you would feed me all of those lollipops for breakfast. i guess that means something. the room always smelled of earwax and caramel pumpkin. the significance being clear. for a second, i forgot of all the other people in the room and maybe it's because for the first time, my pocketbook is no longer a pillowcase.