My Bedroom Window

Over the years, I've managed to amass a smashing circle of friends. Some I see frequently, some every few months, some every few years. That's how it goes, I'm sure for you, too. As I sat here doing Winter Solstice, Christmas, and Hanukkah cards last night (how social of me), I made a mental note of the last time I spoke to the person to whom I was sending the card. It ranges from two weeks to twelve years. There's an ex-girlfriend in there who may or may not wish me dead. More likely, she doesn't care one way or the other.

This time of year is like a birthday that everyone shares. Not because of the gifts, but because of the opportunity it provides to catch up with friends.

Family is another issue.

There's some sort of work crew from the city outside my bedroom window, working on a telephone pole. Almost certainly damage from the storm last night. I moved my desk so I could see out my window because the snow was painfully beautiful to watch. Mesmerizing. There are two cats sleeping on my cot, and on the table next to my bed is a book, an old Royal typewriter (part of my collection) and Linda's gift, which I just got in the mail from Britain. The "Royal Mail."

Last week, I had what is referred to as a "nervous breakdown," and hit my arm with a cleaver, which caused a minor cut and later a black and blue mark. Luckily for me, the cleaver was dull. I'm too old for such nonsense, despite my being mentally-ill. Perhaps a change, or increase, in medication is needed...one of them. Or a decrease. I don't know.