Where does my mind take me? My body? Who is in control?
My feet rest on the windowsill of my Baltimore loft. It's cold and the cat claims the sole patch of sunlight heating the frozen floor boards.
What am I doing here?
My belongings lay scattered about the enormous room. Backpacks and boxes lining the walls. Piles of
clothes and kitchen-ware. Mounds of stuff. Junk. Accumulated rubbish.
Such is my life.
So I do the things I feel I should. I shower. I shave. I brush. I do laundry. I sweep. I organize. Or at least make an attempt.
I make coffee and sip at it as I stare out the window. As I view the students shuffling into the university across the street. Take in the shrinking puddles of water from last night's rain, atop the rooftops of the warehouses adjacent to my building. Admire the chirping birds on my fire escape, before they shoot off to wherever.
Then it's only ten in the morning. It's only ten and I've exhausted my methods of killing time. A slew of hours stand before me. A day that beckons me to dance. But I'd rather not.
I'd rather sign out and came back later. Do this thing part time. Two or three days a week. Nothing too consuming.
At least it's only temporary though. I know this. I tell myself this. Even if that time stretches before me like a welcoming eternity, I know better. I know there's an end. A drop. A darkness.
I just can't seem to find it.
No comments:
Post a Comment