I recently rearranged my tiny apartment to satisfy my need for change and to make it possible to place my table by the window. Some would say that it makes the narrow lane of my designated living room seem narrower, but I ignore them. I like it. In the morning I drink my coffee and gaze out at the view my 2nd floor bach affords. I do a lot of daydreaming looking out this window. There’s not much happening on my street, but it’s busier than most. Cars scrape over the speed calming lump, ignoring the heed to slow down, and the dastardly part of me gets a smile out of that. Who knows why, perhaps because I am a person who believes in following the rules, so it doesn’t make for a lot of trailblazing. The lessons of my childhood were beaten into me so well that they are ingrained into my cafe au lait skin. My horizons have become not so wide.
Life is slow here. I buck against it, hoping one day I’ll wake up and this city will be like others I’ve lived. I like a healthy amount of hustle and bustle. It’s the energy that energy I crave. It feeds me. I need it. I live a mostly solitary life. Yes, it is mostly of my own doing and I’ve mostly receded into it. It’s just me and my wee cat, my mostly toothless wonder. Her only loud demands are that I feed her twice a day and that she occupy my lap all day.
I suppose some of my reluctance stems from the limitations of my health. It’s anomalies and vagaries, there’s a why that sometimes my life doesn’t extend much further than the boundaries of my comfortable blue sofa or my memory foam bed.
I know the journey of a thousand miles begins with one step, but I’ve become almost paralytic most of the time, with friends, families and my own life alike, so I often don’t even hazard that one step. I’ve become so accustomed to living an interior life, the life “out there” has moved further away and has become unfamiliar. I’ve moved further away. But when I am in my bathroom the messages coming at me are positive and affirming. And I sigh.
I write this while still in my pyjamas, hair standing up on my head (yes, Bijou is on my lap); waiting for the other shoe to drop. Safe. Inside. Waiting out the 2nd beast that inhabits my body. It’s how I begin most every day, save for the writing bit. Wait and see. Always wait and see….