I walked through every room in the apartment. Drifting, more like. I was trying to figure out what was wrong with every room. I feel wrong in every room. I thought that maybe after fluffing up the pillows, doing the dishes, opening windows, I wouldn't feel wrong anymore. But I still do. I feel like I need to strip bare all the walls, get rid of the furniture. I need to paint the walls. I keep staring at the walls. I still feel wrong. I am nauseous. In the corner of the living room one plant is dying. I have treated it like I treated all the other plants. Though occasionally I forgot, I regularly gave her water, even a place in the sun. But she will not persevere. Maybe she felt wrong too. It's not the house. Walls are cold, bare, dead. Still I feel like somehow I've bled into the walls, late at night. They know what I mean when I'm staring at them at 2 am.