plucking my eyebrows in the reflection of day-old coffee

today: coffee cold and heavy on the creamer

rain beats hard on the roof over the bathroom, except when the wind gusts so fiercely that the drops are

swept

away before landing somewhere other than where they planned

a late night, an early morning, day spent more contemplating the nap than aquiring it due to

phone calls about a brother i hate addiction

i sit on the closed toilet to better hear the rain and reread the New Yorker while the cat makes love to my ankles

and if the phone rings, I won't answer

it's rude to answer when you're in the bathroom