Pretty shoes are for sunny days

These are the days I go to bed in utter discomfort and have my eyes forced open by worry, like a colony of tiny ants marching up my feet and down my head. These are the days the tick and tock of the clock move in such slow unbelievable motions. Almost as if both the hour and minute hand had not the heart to reveal the coming minute and the trouble they hold in their hands. These are the days I think of marrying a bed. These are the days I set iTunes on shuffle, and all it seems to be playing are songs of gloom. Playlist of the depressed. These are the days the letters I type form nothing but vain phrases of a witless. These are the days I feel most unworthy of my dreams. The days my head hang in dark clouds, and when it rains, it rains question marks. The days food cheesecakes lose its significance. The days I go straight to bed and dig right into my food.

And I thought I would lose weight.