A Clear Day

 I went on a major cleaning spree this morning. Brought my desk upstairs. Rearranged my bedroom so it would fit and I could look out the window as I sit writing. I also hung some curtains as I have been awakened each day since my return by the sunlight flooding my empty, white-walled room. I’m not much for going back to sleep. I have weird, Prozac-infused dreams when I try to go back to sleep.

This morning I woke on schedule, but managed to sort of doze until shortly after my roommate left for his job. After the zombie-lion chased me into the spooky old house on the hill and I woke up, I was still tired. Am still tired. Thinking about a nap, but I need to write a little. That’s what started it all this morning. I sat down to write, several times in fact, but found myself instead fumbling through the cable channels, smoking yet another cigarette, and just generally wandering about the house and yard. I even went for a walk through the neighborhood. I am restless. Something slightly beyond restless. And all the walking and not-writing didn’t cure it.

So I brought my desk upstairs to the bedroom and hung some curtains (I’ve heard this is an old folk remedy for getting over restlessness and writer’s block). Since we aren’t really sure how long we’re going to be here, I never really bothered unpacking anything other than my clothes. Not that I own much else. Not that I possess. The room has been sterile – white walls, a bookcase, a bed, my dirty laundry, miniblinds that let in far too much sunlight – and I haven’t done anything to change that. Like I’ve been waiting.

I guess it seemed strange to me to start now. You know, start living in the house I live in. When I moved in with Manny, I knew this space wasn’t permanent. Not even long term. Even if we continue living together, this space is temporary. But I must have figured out that it’s all temporary – even the stuff we are foolish enough to let ourselves think is forever – and I can’t go on another day, waiting. Waiting for the future to come through. Waiting for the past to fade away. If it’s for another day or another month, I’m not going to wake up again staring at stark white walls, like I’m in a hospital room or a Stanley Kubrick film.