bare-faced

With sloppy wet hair, I walk out the door and pull my ugly sweater down. I wish it covered my knees. I'm bare-faced to the wind, and it isn't holding back. It swirls around me, finding holes in my clothes and replacing the heat I had gained and replacing it with a bitter cold. Even in my car the cold never leaves me. And as I listen to mindless radio, or cd, or even the quiet nothing but the hum of my exhausted engine, I think of the waste spent last night. Although falling asleep with my niece on my chest was most comforting, the cheap wine aftertaste that surrounds my mouth this morning reminds me of my sad drunken texts. More so bitter than sad, I suppose. I still haven't shed one tear since the day.
Either way, I have figured out that 6 glasses of wine makes me feel worse, but then everything is roses when holding my niece. So whenever depressed, hold a baby and the world will come back together.