The Other Side of the Door

When lethargy creeps up on me like a thief in the dark, in a mask and crepe soled shoes, it moves so slowly and silently that I don't notice its presence until it's too late. A quick nap, I tell myself, Just an hour or so to rest my eyes. The next thing I know it's midnight and the second next thing I know is that it's light and filmy gray outside - it's morning. The television has played all night long, I am still in underwear mode, have spent twelve hours sleeping above the covers, and the animals are restless. I want to be annoyed with myself for having wasted this never to come again time in dreams - I dimly remember something about a world made entirely of chocolate - but what's done is done and it's a new day, time to move on. There's no time to regret where I might've gone or what I might've missed.

I face down the enemies of lethargy, apathy, and complacency, the trifecta of senior citizenship, and pull on a clean pair of jeans, a fresh t shirt ( it reads You have to start before you can finish! ) and my old Nikes. I don't hit the floor running, but I do at least hit the floor upright, awake and well rested.

I make a mental list of what needs to be done while doling out cat and dog food and refilling water bowls, brushing what few teeth aren't in a glass by the sink and splashing cold water on my face. The day is sunless but still I hope for blue skies and enough warmth to open the windows and blow away the cobwebs and the fuzzy feeling that comes from oversleeping. First things first, I tell myself sternly and make up the bed linens to remove any temptation to crawl back in - lethargy sustains itself on its own and in the back of my mind there's the thought that I've already lost twelve hours, what difference would another twelve make - dangerous thinking for so early in the morning, more so for someone naturally inclined to be reclusive. But for the need to work and my passion for music, I sometimes think I might never leave home at all.

Solitary soul that I am, I like keeping the world on the other side of the door. It's not peaceful out there, not comfortable, too much pushing and shoving to get nowhere too quickly, too many angry and impatient people at odds with everything. Here, I have no one to satisfy except myself, no one to answer to, no one to please except a random assortment of animals with small demands.

Only here, can I keep the peace and and grow old, tending my own thoughts and content to let the rest of the world pass me by. Only here can phones go unanswered, a knock on the door be ignored.
Here I can shut out the noise and the distractions and be in the company of the one I know best.
Here I answer only to me.