Apartment

How many times have I gone through this cycle...?

How many times have I been repeating the same mundane, colorless, and dry tasks that I perform day in and day out? Where did my passion and motivation go?

Wait a minute...I've been here before... right? 

Suddenly, a casual knock at the door persisted until I forced myself out of bed. Wandering through the dark and groaning, I reluctantly dragged my heavy body to the door, leaning against it with my forearm pressed up against it, sighing, "Who is it?"

"It's me."

"Ah." A bitter smile spread across my face followed by a nostalgic sigh while I opened the old wooden door of my apartment.

"Mr. Writer ~" Smiled a familiar face. 

She was as short and preppy as ever. I rolled my eyes, welcoming her into my apartment. She flipped the switch and turned on the lights to reveal the messy stack of books that I had been reading and researching over the period of the last few months. She pushed a few dozen books off of my couch and sat quietly, placing the brown paper bag that she had brought with her on the coffee table.

"Could you not treat my books like children's building blocks?" I sighed.

Rubbing my face, I felt the scruff that I had grown over the past few weeks roughly rub against my fingers. I made my way to the clear coffee table and sat on the floor in front of her, looking up at her." When was the last time you looked in a mirror? Let alone leave the house?" She questioned.

She  spoke with both mild concern and disgust;  this was her usual tone when she spoke to me about my well being and career.

"I've been busy working on my latest work." I retorted, breaking into an unexpected sigh.

"You're a mess.""That's an excellent way to start off this conversation." I sneered sarcastically."I'm serious though."She was worried about me. She just didn't want to say it.What could I do but laugh off the sad excuse of what my life had become?

I gazed upon her, filled with compassion, trust, sorrow, and slight bitterness. Her gaze reflected what I had seen in myself; confusion, wonder, worry, and perhaps even... sadness. She looked upon me as if I were an abyss, swallowing her gaze into the very depths of my soul.

The room was quiet, intense, and full of unexpressed concerns and emotions. Before I could break the silence, she did so first by removing the Chinese food she had brought from her way to work from here.

"You should really check your pager. It's been really hard to get into contact with you." She said

.I laughed."I actually lost it under this massive sea of books. I can only imagine what my emails might look like."

She smiled, "Dumb ass." and then got up, "I'll get the plates."

I sat with my legs under the table and leaned back, propping myself up with both arms behind me. I took a deep breath and sighed. It felt like the first real breath I had taken in months. The air that came in slightly rejuvenated my exhausted vessel, making me stretch my arms above my head. I rubbed my eyes and heard the clanging of plates and utensils."Here." She said placing my plate down in front of me.

"Thank you. Ah, I have alcohol if you'd like some. Whisky goes great with greasy food."

She shook her head with a sarcastic smile. I smiled, got up and grabbed a bottle of whiskey along with a bucket of ice and two shot glasses. I carefully poured whiskey into her glass, meticulously allowing the light brown whiskey to flow from the bottle into her shot glass. The ice cracked and gently bumped against the cool glass. When I looked up after pouring her drink our eyes met."!" I let out a silent gasp, feeling vulnerable to her gaze.