the in between times

You wake up one morning and think, “I am a grown up.” The electricity bill sits on the kitchen counter, opened, unpaid, the money in your account (but thinking about the four and a half hours you worked to earn that amount halts your check-writing pen). There are blueberry muffins in the freezer, waiting to be defrosted, toasted, buttered and honeyed and eaten with the tea you won’t finish before you bike in the rain to work. You wonder what’s next. You wonder what’s for dinner. You ask yourself, “what is my life?”