I shiver, high stepping around the little leaf-filled puddles on the driveway as I hurry to the curb. The mailbox is full of yesterday's delivery: junk mail, junk mail, bill, junk mail, bill... I shudder and dash back to the house, wishing I'd brought my jacket despite the short jog. I'm not ready for cold, soggy fall weather yet.
I drop the mail on the kitchen table, and a little voice in my head says, "You should just deal with it now, instead of leaving it for later." I hesitate for a moment out of respect to my conscience, but walk away, kicking my shoes off toward a corner heap.
With the boys off to school, and the baby still asleep, the house is quiet, dark, and cluttered. I should take advantage of this time to clean, pay bills, shower... But somehow I've gotten out of the habit of caring about these things. I've gotten out of the habit of caring about anything, if truth be told.
I stand in the filthy front room and listen to the cold October rain, the sploosh of cars hurrying to places I probably should be going, too. Oh, well.
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