Every day is the same.  Wake up, stretch, pad out to the living room and decide what I’m going to do with my day. Sometimes I come to an answer, sometimes I just get distracted by the sun streaming in the window, and the playful way the dust motes move in the ambient breeze of the house.

It’s easy to get lost in thoughts looking at dust motes. You wonder- did I make you move, jump, and swirl in that way? Could each particle of dust really hold a solar system, much like our own? Or is it just dander with nothing better to do? Today it’s boring dander. Like it will probably be tomorrow. And the next day.

You’d think I’d get tired of such a mundane life. Not much seems to change here, and the seasons slowly creep on, marked only by the sun that charts its path across the living room. Today it reaches just to here. Next week, to there. And so on and so forth.

My days consist of spiraling circular paths. Loop around once, debate how I feel about the trees in the yard. Loop around twice, think about how I should really *do something* with my day. Loop around three, four, who knows how many times… always finding interest in something new in the space that contains me.

Now it’s not that I don’t want to go outside. Not at all. I just never seem to make it past the threshold. Disinterested when I have the option (usually distracted by motes again) – craving to escape when I need to stay inside. But one day I swear I’ll figure out the trees in the front. See what they’re all about. Ask them how long they’ve been standing there, and perhaps ask nicely if they could shift a bit- as I really would like more sun in the front room.

Much like my concentric paths, my meals seem to follow the same ritual. Same time, every day. While I’m sure by now you think I’m dull, but I find these habits rather comforting. I’m not big on change. Unless of course it were for the trees to shift ever so slightly. That kind of change I’d be okay with.

Before I know it, my day is spent. Perhaps I lost a few hours here or there in a particularly comfortable spot. I bet so. I probably dozed off while considering string theory, or wondering if one day the sun won’t rise. But no matter, now it’s on it’s way down, hitting the side wall just before saying goodbye.

And with this I begin my retreat, slinking away from the front room- fearful of its now mirrored walls.

I tesselate my concentric path, spiraling back into the house to find a place to hide, checking up on the walls and the corners as I go.

With a tired resignation, I curl up and agree to meet the day again tomorrow. Or maybe in the middle of the night. Whenever the mood strikes.

“Housecat Blues” – 11/27/14

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