i stand in the kitchen, leaning over the old, old table from my earliest childhood memories. the table that we always ate dinner on- the three or four times a year that we would all make sure to sit down together. it was all the same, except now we used a different table for those occassions. turning the knob on the radio, trying to find some station. something to rock to. fuzzy, fuzzy- click. the bass pulls through to my hips. standing back now and looking in the window pane- watching my reflection, i wonder- am i infatuated with myself, am i completely head over heels in love with myself? psh, no way. slowly dancing around the kitchen, grabbing a sponge. then washing dishes- it's easiest to dance then. then the thought creeps in like a disease- what do i look like from the outside?
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