Thoughts from home

I've been homebound for a week now, cautious about going out because for me that would mean spending a lot and also because work won't be two weeks from now. So home it is for me.

Laundry still piles up. Dust gathers. Sheets get changed once a week--
I'm not very quick on the household chores. But not far behind either.

For the first time today though, I set foot outside for a short, mundane, grocery shopping. Usually, that's something I enjoy. I am the type of person who, without anything to purchase loves to go to grocery stores and look at the array of items on the shelves. The happy shiny things sitting there waiting to be bought makes me happy. But being home for so long and belt-tightening make the outing unattractive to me.

The first thing I noticed when I went out was my thicker waist, my jeans told me so. And how pretty and interestingly smart and busy the two girls sitting in starbucks were.

Everyone looked to me like they have some sort of purpose.
One girl I saw by the sidewalk was even wearing black-heeled shoes. I'm sure they were intended for something...

And there were those old men who easily coagualate in coffee shops sitting also in starbucks talking business or not. Reading newspapers. Occupied, so very occupied. Like they've done something for the day already and are finished and are there because they're done.

Then the book-readers. Mesmerized.

I've been gone from the outside world so long things look different to me. Not for better, certainly not worst. But it brought me to thinking that I've lost that rhythm that makes me fit the mold, when I, just like everyone else goes my own way, so very unconcious about myself, primarily present in a certain area, at a certain time, because I'm there for something, and I'm there without really thinking I'm there. I just am. I just fall in step with everyone else and part of the picture.

The thing is, being home made me lose interest in so many things, I got easy. I lost that drive, that desire that makes certain things important somehow. I became less interested in getting something, being somewhere, because I see so little that makes them a must do or a must have. Everything are just part of a thought, nothing more, immersed as I am in my own little world.

Now, I don't know if I miss being that other. Continuously seeking. Having. Living so many different selves-- the reading girl, the girl by the sidewalk, even the old men who were there because they've done all else....

Pretty soon I will lose all conciousness again and just do and do and do.