I planned out my night.
Going out to a gathering with friends.

I look around my room.
What a mess.

I don't feel so happy right now.

So I start cleaning.
Make my bed.
Take out my clothes for the night.
Grey shirt.
Black carpenter's pants.
My best red checkered shirt.

My only red checkered shirt...

Red and white socks.
My watch, two hair elastics, two rings, three pins, one hat.

I shower away all the grime and grease.
Tidy up my look as I put on the clothes.
Putting on my signature hat and attaching the pins to my shirt.

I look...okay.

I lace up my buffed up red shoes and take my car and drive off to wherever I'm going.

It's supposed to be a great night out.

Until I go home to cry away the pain.

I'll enjoy myself.
I'll do something.

Anything.

I'll wake up earlier than usual and for a split second, I forget what happened 24 hours ago. It seems like a blur, like it didn't happen.

But I know it did.

And I can't change that.

So I'll throw on a checkered shirt and look at myself in the mirror as I put on my key necklace and rings, looking dangerous and ready to ****.

I wonder whether or not it's worth it to button up my shirt, but I seem to like the aesthetic of looking like I'm helpless. So I leave the shirt open to seem lazy too.

But I will roll up the sleeves. I'll always roll up the sleeves. Can't risk snagging the cuffs of a good, bad, decently fashionable looking shirt.

Pick out a complimentary hat and go.

Face the day why don't you?

Because I know I'll still end up crying eventually.

And I'd rather have those shirt cuffs in tact to wipe away the pain when I do.

...That you don't hate me for what I wrote.

I have no other way.
I'm stuck here counting days.

What happened to me?