A Day on My Own

So, I'm home today, all alone. No where to be, but plenty I should be doing. It's the first such day I've had in weeks, and the last one I'll have for a couple of months probably. So you'd think I'd be reveling in it, running around mad with the freedom and indulging a million desires. Or at least getting the chores done, learning lines, getting caught up on all the neglected portions of my life. But no. I am feeling forgotten, as usual. This is not a plea for attention (well I suppose it is in a way since I am sharing with the interweb) but merely my major psychosis, that sense of abandonment and uselessness if not constantly in demand. My only refuge from that, other than the compulsive eating, movie watching and reading, is to dream up some place that I can not be and wish I was there. If only I could paint or draw, I would so much prefer to be able to express myself in pictures. Instead, I have words, the only medium I have the faintest grasp on, talentless hack that I am.

There is a cottage, a lonely cottage in the English countryside, on the outskirts of a small village, made of grey stone with green moss growing in the crevices. It is late afternoon, in autumn and the sky is merely a darker grey behind it. There are oak and beech trees surrounding it, half of their leaves are already lying on the ground and the rest have changed from the brilliant colors of October to the dead brown that means that snow can't be long off. A brook runs just in front of the cottage with a small footbridge for the walkway to the entrance. Inside the scene is much cheerier, the rooms are small, but lined with books and memorabilia from travels, cluttered but clean. A fire is blazing in the central fireplace, and the hard wood floors are covered with thick rugs. Lucifur is curled up on one end of the red velvet settee in front of the fire and I am sitting in an overstuffed matching chair looking out at the remains of the day as the rain starts to patter against the ancient window panes. Shall I close the heavy drapes against the draughts? No, I want to watch the night come on as I wait, patiently, for the sound of the kitchen door opening. For the arrival of the guest that will stay and keep me company for eternity.