5 January 1999

Inside/Outside

Let's go outside
In the sunshine
I know you want to but you can't say yes
Let's go outside
In the meantime
Take me to the places that I love best

The chill creeps along the floor, an insidious, unwanted houseguest. Though the air inside is otherwise warm, my feet curl away from the draft, crying out for the protective coating of clean socks or fleece-lined slippers.

Both are still packed up in the bags that accompanied us on our 10 day trip to Europe. Lethargy and inertia during the course of the day have prevented me from doing anything about it. I am listless, puffy-eyed and strangely lost in the surreal feeling of not knowing what time or day it is.

Sasha curls up on my shoulder, purring in my ear then moves off, daintily stepping across the keyboard, so that I have to erase and retype amidst much cursing. She drifts off into the living room in search of better cuddling fodder, while Mephisto continues to doze oblivious to his sister's shenanigans, a tight ball of black fur against the crisp white of the spare-bed pillowcase.

The sound of the television echoes back to me along cleaning-fluid smelling walls. I have been spraying Nature's Miracle every few hours, when Shara decides that she is too good for the litter-box and chooses yet another corner of the, fortunately tiled, bathroom in which to do her business. I am contemplating switching back to the clumping litter. She seemed to like it better than the pine chips. Luckily, the kittens don't seem to care WHAT is in the box, as long as the box is there.

I find myself in an extreme state of haziness, unfocused, drifting from one thought, one task, one idea to the next. I know that I have many things that need to be done, yet I can't seem to stay fixed on any one or the other for long enough to complete any of them.

Writing projects, web projects, unpacking, cleaning up, putting away the groceries. Everything seems too difficult, too demanding, too inconsequential.

All around me, the world is moving on, spinning inexorably, yet I can't seem to get in synch with its rythm. I am still wrapped up in a cocoon of thought, an idea of existence which is separate from the reality that I now reside in.

Sleep tugs at my eyelids and I contemplate a late afternoon nap, to help clear the fog.

Outside the air is crisp and clear and I also wonder if taking a walk outside, wouldn't help to chase away the cobwebs. But my virus-touched lungs cringe at the hint of cold air and so I simply gaze out at the winter world, and ponder.