precise gloom

I'm grumpy. Lyda tells me it is a feeling. She says it is a vibe. It has to do with the moon and it's true: the moon is waning and my preference lies with waxing. But the day was early and full-bellied when I woke up this morning, slightly chilly and with my toes curled under the quilting. Out of sorts of shiny, my sweater and leggings a vast overstatement of the warmth. But the evenings are starting earlier and earlier and hours of dark expand to fill my weekend lungs. There is a buzzing behind my eyes and a tightness to my step. When did I go from unloved to unloving? I am an introvert and a purger; I force most everyone away and gain strength from the grief of their absence.
I try to find something to weep for, but sometimes all I need is not enough. I am missing my exact shadow. I would like to lie on my stomach with the precise weight of my limbs doubled above, crushing and holding me down.