My Morning

I woke up this morning, 
Feeling great. 
My bed sheets need to be washed;
They smell like feet. 

I can handle that. 

I have eggs in the fridge,
And bacon in the freezer. 
I take out the bacon to thaw.

I decide to take a shower. 
It’s been a week. 
I put my clothes into the gathering bundle; 
Once I’ve showered I’ll take care of the clothes. 

I attempt to put toothpaste on my toothbrush,
 The tube is empty. 

That’s ok! I’ll shower, start laundry, go buy toothpaste. 

I start the shower. 

It’s been a month; I get the water perfect. I step inside. 

Regrets and guilt that haunted my dreams drip from my consciousness as my muscles relax and I realize I am safe. 

I reach for the soap and remember:
I’m a fucking piece of shit. 

I have nothing but water. 
Warm water.
Home. 
But unclean.

Eventually I give up. Shower off. No towels. The towels are in the bundle. The bundle exists because I have no laundry soap. Everything is stagnant.

I remember.
I am a piece of shit. 

I do the best I can and brush my teeth with water. 
I look at my bed. 
I haven’t washed the sheets. The sheets are in the bundle. There is no soap. 

Judy wakes me up hours later. 
She has come to check on me. 

I am in the bundle. 
There is no soap.

The bacon has spoiled.