What the bearded dragon knew.

The glass is smudged and my vision is somewhat questionable, but I still watch her with interest, because maybe she will see and bring me crickets. Tonight she dances to some strange music, limbs flailing while she intermittently picks up the mess the small ones have left behind. She mouths the words and she looks insane. Last night she watched a baseball game and drank wine. She seemed despondent as her team lost. She was mostly quiet. It's like this sometimes. And sometimes she marches through the house with a look of grim determination as she picks up messes and more messes and more messes. In and out of the room. Until her shoulders slump with weariness. And sometimes she stands in the kitchen for the longest periods of time, washing dishes and watching me absently. I watch her and sometimes she brings me food. What a strange life this is. What is she doing. What is she even doing. I want some freaking crickets. Not a salad. Not this. I don't even like cherries.