No Name for Saturday.

I am sad today. I have my smelly dog, my lovey man, my nubbin-legged kitten, and lots of wonderful things coming up. The phone is ringing and ringing, and I am not answering. I have wonderful friends. I have been mean to Bill today. I am angry that the hoses to our new washing machine leak. I am behaving like the kind of people I dislike. Why am I crying? It is Saturday. Why is it today that I want to curl up on the couch and snuggle deep into the cushions, hiding my eyes from the light? Why am I dreading Bill coming downstairs? Why is it all I want for him to come down here? Why do I miss Sophie so much right now? Why does it hurt so badly? Why do I have to know what it really feels like for your heart to break? Why am I writing this? Why am I so self-centered? Why am I feeling so crappy lately? Why is my face so pale? Where are my colored pencils? Why is my face crumpled into such a wrinkly canvas? Why am I so tired? Why can't I think of a question to describe the loss that I feel? Just, why?