I haven't left my apartment since last night. I haven't left my bedroom in years. Here are a few things I see from my bed:
-a heap of dresses
-1 wolf blanket
-3 juggling balls
-3 ties hanging on the door
-1 blue pillow in the shape of a dog
-2 empty ceramic cups that say half full
-2 plastic hippos (one adult, one baby)
-1 Chinese food menu
-1 credit card
I want to write a poem that is titled "Whatever the Fuck Was the Focal Point." Can I do that? I don't know if I'm the poet for the job.
I think I can hear cats having sex outside.
I'm constantly failing.
Watching The Life of Mammals hosted by David Attenborough is not distracting enough.