Write What You Know.

"RING RING, ring ring, ring ring…."

It’s obvious to her that he is not going to answer. Calling him every other day and recieving no response was starting to resemble a pattern in her life, a pattern that she hard alot of trouble adjusting to.  Atleast I still talk to him about once a week. He makes time for me when he can…  At this thought she wonders if she is just being reasonable or if she is making excuses for him, and letting herself be used as a doormat as she is so prone to do in the past. It is decided that she thinks too much.

Sighing defeatly, she rolls over on to her stomach and slowly hangs up the reciever.  She lays in her bed and stares at her phone dejectedly, as if an old friend had betrayed her by hiding an old treasure she had found and once had the key for, and suddenly she had lost the map.  She wishes she didn’t need him. Wishes she didn’t feel so lonely, by herself.

She burrows down into her blankets, wrapping them around her shoulders.  The sun coming through her window is bright but cold, which is unusual, even at the end of September. She glances at the clock and can’t remember why she set the alarm for 9:00am. She has no reason for getting up. She must have wanted to fool her body and mind into believing she had a reason to be productive today. She pauses to listen to her roomates going out the door, heading for work. She takes a deep lazy breathe and almost smiles at the thought of the now empty apartment. She enjoys the solitude.

 She wipes the sleep from her eyes and reluctantly pushes her blanket away. As she crosses her bedroom floor and opens the door, she thinks of how much she hates having to fight herself into wakefullness. So much of her energy was used up the night before, fighting herself to sleep.

Then her attention is drawn to the metalic dry erase message board that is fitted on the outside her door. It reads: Eye Apointment Oct 10th, 9:30. And then a note to remind herself and others how much money she is currently owed. Rootmate #1: $40. Under that, it is suppose to say: Roomate #2 $90.  But her second and highly detested roomate, is a stupid STUPID male, who believes that it is a daily joke to he erase the nine so that the amount he owes reads $0. She has yet to find any amusement in this. She hates, LOATHES when he messes with her things, her system. Rage boils up inside her and she shouts at no one, "Stop fucking with me and pay me the money you own me you fuckwit!" The black fluff ball that is her cat, sits on the floor before her feet and stares up at her as though she has lost her mind.

Maybe she has.

She stalkes into the kitchen and fills her kettle up with water, for tea. Suddenly, she recalls one of her younger friends reaction to when she told he she had recently joined a book club. "How quaint," He had laughed. She scowls. Somehow the word quiant has become code for old age in her mind. And she doesn’t know why, but owing a kettle also makes her feel like a old lady. She sighs, bitterly.

It was shaping up to be one of the days where she wonders why she even tries at all.

~M~