I sat in the car outside the supermarket because I didn’t want to carry one more bag

Dear Delyara, I was parked, list in hand, engine off, and I just sat there staring at the entrance like it had personally offended me. The day had already been full — work, a call from school, one argument at home, one email I didn’t want, and the low heavy feeling of having too much left in the week and not enough softness left in me to carry it well. And then there was the supermarket. The lights. The prices. The trolley. The decisions. The silent little maths. The feeling of one more domestic duty waiting to be turned into movement by my body. I eventually went in. I bought what we needed. I smiled at the cashier. But the real truth is this: some days I am not tired of life in the big philosophical sense. I am tired of carrying its bags.