Daft Stillness

I want quiet when I come home. It's selfish, it's filled with my own interests, desires and yearnings. It shows an attitude for not caring, being a solitary, recluse soul that happens to be a big jerk that just can't deal with others' problems at the end of the day. I am exactly that, I realize that and I have no problem admitting to it. While I am aware most people think this is a bad trait, I disagree. It keeps me happy, it keeps me writing, functioning and well, allows me to be not so bitchy the next day.

My days tend to be packed, at least I try to make them as packed as I possibly can. I tend to work into the nights and when I come home, I am tired, drained and well just looking forward to be by myself, unwind and come to terms with the thoughts inside of my own head over a hot cup of tea, the moon veiling the dust on my panel as it seeps in through my smudged plastic glass in broken silver rays.

I don't want to hear how bad work was, I don't want to hear the misfortunes that riddled their day. I care, but just not in that moment as the day is pretty much shaving years off my day, hours from my sleep, increasing wrinkles on my face. I'd rather hear about it tomorrow where I've had my rest and where I can actually tackle and help assist them in their problem of venting...actually caring enough to really, attentively listen. I can't fix everyone's problems, but I can listen to them with my being, somethings that's all anyone looks for and sometimes both parties has to acknowledge that it just has to be enough. At the end that's all I can do. But I can't do that if my head is swimming in fog, trying to discern and discover mysteries and revelations in my own day. If I am searching for the blessings I should be counting additionally, I don't have the energy nor the room to point out yours in all of your negative ranting.

I want to come home to a perfectly still, absolutely, deafeningly quiet, daft home where it's just my place, waiting for me and me alone. I want to put my keys exactly where I've always put them for the past two and a half years, take off my shoes exactly where I've always took them off and put them in my new, white shoe cabinet, hang my purse in my black new key mirror, turn on the stove of my hot water kettle, pull down the blinds, turn on my not so new lap top and then, without leaving a trail of clothes on my tiny apartment's, carpeted floor, take one article of clothing at a time and jump into a shower that's hot, steamy, smells of lilacs and jasmines. I want to wrap myself in my soft and very bright red towels, dry myself off as I decide on what to watch, put on lotion, put on new soft comfortable pyjamas and a new coat of my latest favorite nail polish color, sit on that green couch with my legs on it and jump into bliss.

I need the world to stop when I come home, feeling safely cocooned, away from the threatening dangers of the outside world that any other time of my life, I seek to go out and experience. I need the silent so that I can think, so that my brain can finally digest what the hell has happened, catch my breath and well, make sure I don't get lost in the daily and not so very large picture of the universe and big-scheme of things.

I like being alone, by myself left to share my own pity, sadness, happiness, crazed delights by myself at the end of the night as life unravels for me in quite ways that it never does when i am around others. There is a comfort to knowing fixed certainties at your apartment. It's like Hemingway's "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place" where the cafes allows the old man and the old waiter to anchor and create some sort of meaning in their lives reducing the burden of despair momentarily...