Then I get distracted. Like I always get distracted. I see clothes laying about the floor and I get the idea to throw some of them on. This enormous yarn hat, that long white belt, this gray and black striped robe, and then I'm searching for pins to hold the entire attire in certain cascading folds. My roommate is watching me struggle to fasten a piece behind my back when he loses interest and leaves the apartment in search of amusement elsewhere.
Then I'm rolling on the rug in the center of the room with the cat. And it's more me rolling, and more the cat staring in disbelief. Even he turns to his throne of pizza boxes after a few moments.
So I look to the window. And the fire escape. With the congregating birds singing their daily songs. I stay low and crawl across the hard wood floor in efforts to obtain a better view without frightening them all. Which I do. And as they flutter away in pure abandon, my attention is brought to the stack of neglected entertainment magazines I've been receiving in the mail without a subscription lately. And it's as I'm poking through this mountain of pop culture, reading how great of a year Taylor Swift had and how anticipated the new Star Wars movie is, that I wonder of the time. I wonder of my plans.
And it seems they passed me by.
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