The empty vessel makes the loudest sound.

In a charcoal grey 2007 Prius, there is a touchscreen in the console that demonstrates the energy usage between the battery and the electric motor. I’d be willing to bet that all 2007 Prius’ have this feature, regardless of color.

As you hit the has pedal to drive, the electric motor powers the car and charges the battery with the output energy in order to create an efficient system. I’ve noticed that when I get in the car, I have no motivation to drive anywhere. Without driving anywhere, the battery will empty itself eventually.

I seem to have that effect on things.

When I was too lethargic to crawl out of the covers this morning, my dress hung limp on the hanger, hanged by it’s own unmet expectations.

I didn’t eat breakfast this morning and my empty stomach complained all during church. Now the dark chocolate cherry biscotti bag is empty too. And my poor coffee cup has been emptied at least 3 times.

Showering felt like too much of an effort so I decided to fill the bathtub to the brim with steaming water and bubbles. But as a last ditch effort to fill and fulfill something, I partnered a wineglass with Merlot. Now the faucet drips morosely into a hollow tub and the wineglass is sideways in a sink as the bubbles are crushed under my breath and release their own empty space into the mist on the mirror.

Hello is an empty word too if you think about it. The “H” is separated by a wall in the middle, the lonely lines punished like fair lovers in Verona, never to meet again. The “e” is sliced in half by early commitment and the tail-end is dangling in the breeze, desperate for something else to satisfy. The “l” envy the “h” and “e” because Hey, at least they were able to have a relationship with any other line in the first place, no matter how it turned out! But the “l” soldiers on it’s lonely path, parallel to anyone and anything else.  Do I even have to explain the “o” and the way it’s very existence echoes purposely, regardless of the capital or lowercase-ness?

I’m sorry if you’re reading this because I have this sort of effect on things…

Hello.

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No one ever told me that emptiness weighs the most.

Over 99% of this universe is dark matter.

I’ve heard it said that one can only know happiness after they’ve known sadness.

I’m sitting underneath a blanket that weighs 25 pounds because I’ve also heard it said that these types of blankets can help with depression since it feels like a hug – and hugs release oxytocin.

I don’t know the side-effects of an overdose on this kind of oxy, but I think I could use it right about now. And so could most of my friends. And also the sky, based on the number of days in a row that it has thrown it’s thunderstorm tantrums.

I just started a new government-regulated job and they are teaching me to write the letters “MT” on empty vials that will be cleaned and recycled.

I’ve found it incredibly ironic. And useful.

Absentmindedly, I’ve been scribbling those letters on everything: the spaghetti sauce spattering from my lasagna, the soap suds in the shower, the lipstick smeared across my lips that echo those same letters.

I wonder – with everything that has happened – why I feel this way. I shouldn’t. I should be full, filled to the brim with exuberance, cupping handfuls of excitement for the future, bubbling over with dreams and opportunities and choices. And maybe late at night, if I scoured the corners of my heart and peeked under the dust that’s starting to settle back down after the whirlwind of the past few months, I still might be able to trace remnants of those things.

But I always clock in at 8:00am with the rest of my coworkers and I grab my pen.

MT.
Emtee.
Empty.