Dim morning light filters through the window of my sparsely decorated and yet somehow too messy room, pushing its way past the clouds and smog to break my hungover sleep.

I don't want to be awake yet. It's only 7. It's the weekend. I'm still exhausted. I fight my way back to sleep, get another hard-fought forty minutes, forty more winks.

9 am, back awake. Tired but I don't have the energy to fight for sleep anymore. There's a text on my phone from the girl half a state away. She's getting ready for a day with no breaks, I'm not sure what I'll do with mine.

My roommate's bedroom light is on. It was on when I came home, too. They seem to be able to sleep through anything. Part of me is impressed. Part of me is thinking of the coming electric bill.

Holding a towel against my breast I scurry to the bathroom, might as well get the day rolling. My facial hair grows slower these days, thnks to a healthy regimen of spironolactone and estradiol. I shave as ritual, shower, let the steam fogging my mirrors envelop me like a warm blanket.

I dig a bra out of the pile of clothes on the floor. Throw on a flannel. I'm not expecting to do much of anything today. I haven't even put on pants yet, I'm just taking my time. Reading twitter. Browsing my podcast feed for soemthing good. My mind wanders.

The doorbell chimes so loudly I wonder if it's inside my own head. Weird. I'm not expecting a delivery. Maybe a mistake? I lazily look for a pair of pants, still scrolling on my phone.

ding-dong. ding-dong!

The person in the hall tries for my attention again, urgency mounting. I find some pants, shout "Just a moment!" as I scramble to pull them on.

There's a delivery. A brithday present from my parents. Not an unwelcome surprise. I try to block the view inside my apartment with my body as I take the delivery. Clean is not a word I'd use to describe the scene.

"Sorry to ask this, do you mind if I use the restroom?" the delivery person asks, as if reading the part of my mind that concerns itself explicitly with what it doesn't want.

"No, no, that's fine. I hope you'll excuse the mess --," they dash into the restroom before I get the full sentence out. Great.

"Y'know, you're definitely a bachelor. I mean, look at this place" they say, coming out of the restroom.

"Ah... yeah, it's a bit of a disaster area. Roommate just moved in, I swear it was cleaner before..." I say holding back a twinge of shame and anger. Bachelor? I know for a fact my bra is on the floor of that bathroom.

The delivery person leaves. I try to swallow the exchange and move on. Food. I need food. I'm already dressed, so, might as well just grab my purse and leave. Go to the corner bar -- they serve brunch on weekends.

As I leave I catch my reflection. The delivery person's words ring in my mind. Bachelor. Maybe I should wear some makeup.

Screw it. I'm hungry.

Bar's mostly empty so I grab a cup of coffee and climb onto a stool. "Grilled cheese and mimosa, thanks". Comfort food.

Some time later, a waitress comes by with my food. "Sorry sir, mind moving your stuff?" There's no one near me. I hardly have an appetite.

I rush through brunch. Leave a 20 on the bartop and leave. Coffee, coffee solves all. I walk to the coffeeshop up the block while the delivery person and waitress' words bounce around my brain. Great. It's one of those days.