Standing in front of the opened refrigerator door, I can’t make up my mind. Nothing looks right. Nothing tastes right. I am discontent. Onto the cupboards. Nothing. I open drawers. Still nothing.
I lift the electric tea kettle testing the weight of water, then push the lever to the on position. I walk off in search of comfort. I slip out of my chinos and into a loose fitting cotton knit skirt. That’s better, I think. With tea in hand and my loose fitting skirt swishing against my legs, I fall into bed. I have been here for one week (minus yesterday). It is getting old.
Books are piled high. I read a few pages of Carver for comfort. I roll to one side, then another. Fluff the pillow, adjust the comforter. I read and reread the page because I am lost. I don’t get it. I get to the end of the short story and I still don’t get it. I spy an open bag of junky fruit slices (I don’t even like the tasteless chewy mass). I shove one in my mouth. Hmmm, not bad. Another goes in without forethought. Then another. Stop! I take a sip of tea, now sweet tea with the sugary leftovers mixing in my mouth.
There is nothing left to do when you don’t feel quite right, but to sleep. Back under the covers, I close my eyes. No coughing. My eyes flash opened. He’s loud. Must be close. I put on my husband’s shoes and shuffle to the deck one step out the door. I spot him as I close the door without a sound. Darn he flies to the next tree a little further away. I snap. I am content now...I can sleep.