There are days I want to stay in bed. Days like today, when my room is so cold that it bites the minute I release one limb from the warm cocoon I've created under the comforter, days when even the two layers of clothing and fuzzy socks can't warm me. Days when I can't even look forward to coffee. Those are stay-in-bed days if I ever heard them.
But I get out of bed, because no one hears my cries of, "I don't feel good . . . I want to stay home from school," except Phoebe, but she doesn't even know where the thermometer is so I can fake a fever.
Instead, I stumble to the shower, zoning under the steaming water until I come to and realize I've just conditioned my hair twice and I can't remember whether or not I washed my face. So, I get ready with heavy hair and heart, taking care to fix the happy mask in place so no one knows I'd rather be at home, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling, and all I can do is hope I won't need the mask tomorrow.