"peat moss, what have you"

We are at Starbucks (again). Ron is doing homework and I'm reading and writing. Ronald is going to do a paper on Sylvia Plath tomorrow for school. I'm so excited as I am his unofficial expert on the subject of Syvie and of course, she is my absolute idol so any chance to talk about her or think of her is a good thing.

The music is quiet and droning. I'm tired and down today. We took a walk because I was down and that didn't help. We had lunch together at one of my favorite places and that didn't cheer me up. Now it is quiet, now I am left with my own seething thoughts that drill like miters in my head. The demon prances and frolics through me, emancipating himself in my actions and words and tears.

As Syvie says:

"You do not do, you do not do
Any more, black shoe
In which I have lived like a foot
For thirty years, poor and white,
Barely daring to breathe or achoo."

It's loud. I feel blank and ruined.