Winter is coming. More rain than ever in the whole year. I wish everything would be covered in snow. The air is getting thinner and thinner. Cold, like how I feel inside.
Things are right. Nothing is wrong. I guess I just am feeling... lonely. I try to write. The stacks of those unfilled Christmas cards are there on the table.
I hugged myself, feeling the warm cosy jumper. Pouring back the chocolate powder in, perhaps a little more, dark chocolate is not self indulgent. Not in my rules.
The neighbours have been pretty silent these days. Most are going on holidays. The house is pretty empty but myself. Only the clock ticking, that needs to be fixed. The spoon hitting the internal edges of the cup resonates louder.
Feels like I have got a ton of things to do. I am just not feeling them.
If there are days darker than winter days, it would be at days when I'm feeling like this inside. Nothing feels right. I feel I have given up. But to what? To nothing but chances.
Perhaps a little less sugar next time, note to self. 'That book still needs to be written, Dee', a little voice from within me. 'I know', I reply. I'm a writer, I suppose, even thought one published article in a local magazine does not make a writer, I do want to be a writer, so I will write it. Right now it is only a sense of believing back in myself and jump back up at things.
My mind is blank. Full of little nothings. Artefacts of the past. Not useful, need to be discarded immediately.
Did something hit me recently? Did someone just left me and broke my heart again? No, I thought, that was 7 months ago. 'So what is up, Dee?' 'I am this. This is uncertainty, and I am not good at this. Remember that time in 7th grade when I lost at the competition that defined me. I felt cheated, by me, for not letting me try again. I didn't know what to do then, I don't know what to do now. So I'll just lounge here until I know what to do'. The little voice sighed back at me. 'I know,' I said to the little voice, 'you are a definition of social norms and expectations that I heard, that are not mine, but including mine. I know,' I said, 'I'm sorry.'
The sun is almost setting, I took a deep breath. Should I give up to tire and fall into sleep? Should I move to my bedroom? But I should draw the curtains in first. This chair in the nook and this blanket is too cosy.
Yes, perhaps I should get up and turn up some lights in the house and draw in the curtain. Is the heating system off? It is getting pretty chilly.
I could hear the wind seeping in my window sills. The sound of it. Like someone trying to whistle next to you but could not do it properly. The sound was filling the room. In my mind there was really an invisible person in the room beside me. I don't like that thought.
I got up and drawing in the curtain of this room first. The neighbour's house right across seems pretty alive. At least they leave their front door light on. I wonder have they come back from their holiday... Or do they have someone in the house while they're away... The warmth of family bonds...
It is getting quite dark outside. My focus went back to the reflections of my own room reflected in the window. The chair I sat on, ... those cushions need a wash, ... those socks, how did they got on the floor like that?... the hallway right through this living room,... that painting on the hallway that I painted when I was 10... did my Mum ever liked it truly...? A shadow... a shadowy figure... in the hallway... A shadowy figure...? I'm pretty sure I'm alone in the house. A little girl? ... With a long face and some drape clothes all over her shoulders. She's looking straight at me. Her gaze piercing. Her long hair was loose and messy, she looks sticky and damped. She was crying, ... and angry at the same time... ? She was behind me,... looking straight at me... as if she wants to run straight through me anytime... I'm scared ... Who is she...? I feel the chilly wind again filling in the room... I can hear it...
... and all I knew I was alone in the house...
