i can feel her. she winds about the room, over my head, heavy and oppressive. She's pressing my shoulders down, compacting my back. I stare down in the table, wishing the woodgrain would swirl and swim like it should, inhibited all its life by being solid and tangible and with a terrible, motionless form. I wish it were more like smoke, like her, swirling above my head, getting stuck on my clothes so i can't forget.