I've got a lot on my plate these days.
I glance around, find an empty booth, and slide in.
I hate my job.
The owner, an older Chinese man, smiles and brings water and a menu.
Money is tight, it's always tight.
Mongolian beef today, I think.
I have no passion for life, my dreams just confusing mashups of the past.
Wonton soup like always, the fried strips melting into the broth.
My friends are gone, lost to time and distance and I feel so alone.
The owner brings me a gorgeous looking plate full of food, I thank him.
The love of my life finds more excitement in his computer than in me.
Tender beef, saucy peppers, perfectly steamed rice.
I search books for romance, fiction won't tell your secrets or get jealous.
Half the meal goes in a box for later.
My bed is as cold as my heart, no sleep will deter my exhaustion.
An almond cookie makes the check easier to pay.
Maybe I should be on medication. Maybe I should break up with my boyfriend. Maybe I should cut my hair. Maybe I should stop eating. Maybe I should move back home.
I pay at the counter and thank the man for an excellent meal as always.
I tuck my credit card into my wallet, my feelings into the deepest part of my mind so that I can make it another day without falling apart.
At least I have enough leftovers for dinner.