Cabin fever threatens. I shun the outside world, but now it seems as if the four walls get closer by the hour. I think a change in the space might help or a shift in routine. I do virtually the same things at the same times every day. I do not want the rut to get any deeper.
Spring cleaning in February? The idea poses possibilities. Productive ones at that.
A little meditation on a daily basis should soothe my soul. That strategy benefits me and in turn others. I enjoy the quiet. Pogo and his purr would help I am sure.
The wind blew fiercely from the north yesterday. The door made that humming metallic sound that I remember from my childhood.
I love my apartment because of its size and the number of closets. But like most people when they reach 50, my home suffers from shifts and sags. Doors might stay closed depending on the season. The glass screen door does not quite hang right, so it barely does its job.
Several companies and people have owned the complex during the 25 years I have lived here. As expenses and rent rose, the little things fell by the wayside. No more garbage disposals after the originals failed. Cheap tile installed by inexperienced workers over concrete disintegrates with age. Potholes in the parking lot are patched endlessly so that a little rain or snow causes them to reopen like a scab on the knee of a 5-year-old who falls from his bike.
A faded whore once prized for her youth and now able to lure only the dregs, the complex does not draw the tennants it once did. The middle class working singles set once flocked here because of the pool and location. Now retirees on fixed incomes, young couples down on their luck and those medically challenged in some way find their way here.
Did I mention I hate change?
Later, dude.
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