I wake up at 11:00 to the smell of cold. Bitter cold. Cold only witnessed in the dead of winter. I have no idea what day it is, or why I have this pounding headache that consumes my thoughts. I think maybe I should eat something. I drag myself out of my bed and into my kitchen. What a wreck it is. Not sure why. I’m starving. I make some tea, and eat some toast. I sit at my kitchen table, my thoughts wandering into a state of utter despair. The clock on the microwave says 2:00 p.m. Have I been sitting here for that long? I get up to look out the window. The neighbors across the street are gathering the children off the bus. They hop along so carefree. Their dog is chasing the children into their storybook house. Their lawn is so well kept. Is mine? I cannot remember.
I go back to my bedroom and turn my record player on. The sounds of The Beatles fill my house. I lose myself in the music and sit at my desk and begin to write. Music and writing are the only cure for my tortured soul. I loathe my neighbors. They are so standard. The mother is wearing her June Cleaver dress and pearls standing at her kitchen window. I feel her judgement towards me all the way over here in my bedroom. How did I manage to move into this neighborhood to begin with. That was years ago. Before the war. Back when I was a carefree youngster myself. I am constantly concerned about tomorrow. And the next day, and the next. What will come of me, and of my neighbors who seem to be living in a different world than me? Do they listen to the radio? Do they fear for their lives? One wouldn’t assume so, for they take their children to dance lessons and football practice everyday as if nothing is looming over our heads that could potentially destroy us any moment. Oh well thats their problem. I will sit in my misery, and keep myself unaware of all the others who have chosen to continue on with their lives as if nothing at all is wrong. I suppose I will continue to live in this dread, watching the storm clouds pass by my window, day after day. I look over the horizon at the sun set, and wish I could be far away from here, somewhere secluded. Somewhere that I could listen to the music of nature, and write, and where I too could possibly be happy.
Back to my kitchen window. The children are now running in sprinklers with the dog. They are playing ball, and riding bicycles. My, God. Do they not know how cold it is?
