Moods have their own tides and undertow. My limbs are heavy. They're heavy. Heavier than happy and heavier than absentminded. My limbs are filled with weight from work and home and Lily and work and Lily and home and the clogged sink and the mortgage work home Lily dirty dishes.

Well, Jerry did the dishes yesterday, so the weight that starts with a wrinkle in my forehead is a few forks lighter.

I flop next to Jerry on the couch and squish into him.

What are you doing, he asks. Mumbling from his shoulder I say, I don't know.

Why are you crying? We're sitting here relaxing, he said.

I am procrastinating, I tell him.

Every spare moment is a drop of time when I might fix my life job home mood happiness and make it all better. Instead I wipe my cheeks and look at the clock thinking, I am going to end up in bed late again and the laundry isn't done and Lily's fur is stuck to everything.

Lily lunges at cars, which is another little weight that gets heavier throughout the day as I picture the many ways she can get hurt when a neighbor speeds by. A diesel trash truck whips down the road late Monday and I know he is trying to finish his day. He doesn't care or think about people or animals or anything but how soon he can finish. I yell SLOW DOWN because Lily is yanking at her leash and I am scrambling for the curb and angry that I have to worry about jogging on my own road. What does he care about my safety or Lily's? He stops and backs up his truck and the engine noise gets louder and louder.

He yells out that he was doing the speed limit. I ask him if he knows the speed limit. I ask: why do you think of us last? I start to ask something else but he is still saying something. The truck is too loud. I lean back and let him see me stare at the company name and number on his truck. We look at each other for a second. Maybe that's good enough. Maybe not.