The one thing I miss the most about living at home is being able to come back at the end of a day and report everything to my mother and sister. So I started a silly habit where I can use the most ridiculous English and sound all deep and mystical. I'm not,really,I just enjoy using the language in odd ways. Here is one of many Letters to Nobody. Because telling nobody is somebody. And if you read it,you can be my nobody.
24 October 2011
Dear Nobody,
My day today was rather dull. If it had been a colour,it would have been puce. Puce looks alright but the sound of it is rather horrid. I slept until ten,not because I was tired and not because I had nothing else to do. Just because I could. When I finally woke up,it was to find a dozen pairs of eyes staring down at me from my cream coloured wall. That is not their fault. I stuck those photographs up there. After stumbling down my step ladder,I stared at a rather bleak face in the mirror for a few moments. The me of the night takes little care of her appearance. I washed my face and changed my clothes and examined my fingernails until I felt a little more awake. The sound of the kettle woke the cats and I fought them off my milo-soaked rusk and scratched their little velvet ears for about thirteen and a half minutes.
After opening my blinds and considering making my bed,I typed away on my little laptop and uploaded some photographs that will be forgotten in a few weeks time. I spent a few moments on facebook,but there were very few faces and neither pages nor chapters. My camera got my attention for the next half-hour. Though no images were captured,the weight and feel of it made me smile. Lunch consisted of a chicken wrap and a mug of milo. I turned on the TV,not because anything interested me,but because it’s what one ought to do on one’s day off.
I entered a brief moment of panic when I realized how far behind I was in my journaling. Days had slipped past without being immortalized on the pages of a well-worn notebook. I was forgetting to remember. Armed with several pens and yet another mug of milo,I ventured out to the tiny tree-house in the back yard. I spent the next few hours flat on my back,staring at the roof while my cell phone sang sad tunes that made me remember not so much the actual events of the past year,but rather the feel and smell of them. Not one day was recorded,but myriads were relived.
When my family of sorts returned in a flurry of bags and wet swimsuits and requests for snacks,I found myself back in the kitchen. We,the “adults”,had coffee and a chat. I am not big yet,I thought to myself,I’m still just one of the children. I confirmed that within myself by playing tag with the little girls. When the mother went shopping,I helped the boy with his homework,feeling very mature and smart. He wanted to run around too,so we did until I lost my breath. The house was silent again;the children had rediscovered the joys of the trampoline. Flying through the air gives one a fresh perspective on life. Time passed once more and I helped bath the little girls and learned that fairness is based on the order in which hair is washed. Dinner followed ablutions and I chose water over juice for no particular reason. Juice is a silly sounding word when repeated.
Now,after tinned apples and chocolate mousse,I am back in my little piece of the house,typing away so that you might know what I did today. It’s raining a little and the glorious smell of wet earth drifts through the window on my left. If I part the blinds slightly,as they do in movies,I can see the rain drops splashing down into a puddle lit up by the outside light. If the reflection of the sun is sunbeams,the reflection of the bulb on water must be liquid light. It’s a lovely thought,even if it isn’t true.
So now I sit here on my wooden chair,sipping my decaf coffee (a pointless drink indeed,what is coffee if not caffeine?) and ponder your existence. You are no one,but I am glad I could share my day with you. Mondays are indeed like the colour puce;the sound of them is horrid but the reality is indeed quite bearable,if rather dull.
