Zoned out, I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror. I don’t like looking at me. Honestly, I don’t even like me period. The first rays of light from another miserable day creep through the frosted window and mix with the flourescents.

“I’m sorry,” I say with a sigh.

“What was that dear?” she calls from the bedroom.

“Nothing, just thinking out loud…” I trail off into mumbling intentionally. She’s a lovely woman, so kind and caring. It’s tragic really, that she wound up with me I mean. There’s certainly nothing tragic about her intrinsically.

It occurs to me I should put a shirt on, though I’m not sure how that will change anything. I roll the box over and over in my fingers, though I don’t look at it directly, just in the mirror. That way it’s not really here. It’s not really today. It’s there, over in mirror land, with that guy who looks kind of like me but never quite like how I imagine myself.

Deep breath. One last flex for the mirror. It’s now or never, once I put a shirt on.