Sometimes I wake up in the morning, after battling the rough night demons,
the detritus of their dark messages like sharp crumbs in my bed. My pillows
are pummeled by the weight of the world. And I hear my husband giggling like
a hyena downstairs, listening to the silly banter of the morning newscasters.
They treat us like babies while biting on their new macarons. It makes me want
to grab a rolling pin and pound him on the head, like Blondie pounded
Dagwood, until it looks like I’ve just assembled a cherry pie, if you know what
I mean. (Just kidding.)